


Name and Nature

by sherwoodfox



Series: The Madman and the Worm [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Murder, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Family Dynamics, Flirting, Insecurity, Ishbal | Ishval, Magic and Science, Mostly Canon Compliant, Murder, Mythology References, Obsessive Behavior, Other, Pre-Canon, Sadism, Secret Relationship, Shapeshifting, Some Mature Language, Stalking, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 48,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27291091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherwoodfox/pseuds/sherwoodfox
Summary: Pale skin flashing in the corners of his eyes, fingertips with a touch as hard and cold as stone, wild laughter that rose into the clear desert sky...Kimblee loved the war, as he had known he would.But he hadn’t expectedthis.
Relationships: Envy/Zolf J. Kimblee
Series: The Madman and the Worm [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1053362
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

Kimblee’s first thought of Ishval, when he stepped off the train, was that it was _dry._

There was no rain or ice in the wind that whipped his hair and danced across his face, not at all. And he had known it was a desert, of course, but he had never been to a desert before. He hadn’t known what to anticipate. Even summers in Central had a little bit of fullness to them. This air was like a skeleton, bleached and hungry. Almost immediately, he felt his eyes begin to burn.

“Move along,” said one of the other soldiers behind him, a big man with a loud, brutish voice. He had been laughing on the ride down in one of the train’s other booths, Kimblee had seen him. Laughing and drinking with some of the other pitbull-type men- glad, probably, to have a job that his hands could manage. The government, in its draft called to flood the already years-long war with more men, was eager for thugs like that.

Kimblee waited just another second on the steps before moving fully off the train. He was spiteful maybe, but knew what he had been sent here to do- his hands were worth more than those of any foot soldier. The skin of his bandaged palms ached; only days ago had they been turned black.

But the base the government had set up was a mess, and the dry air didn’t help at all. Men loitered between the tall white tents, talking and smoking, and the middle aged woman who was supposed to be handling the latest batch of recruits didn’t seem to know what she was doing at all. Kimblee’s head began to ache, his mouth was tacky, the skin under his uniform itched. Did they really need to leave everything so tightly buttoned? Ishval was too hot for these uniforms, which had been designed with cool indoors and moderate Central weather in mind. He pulled at the collar, gingerly still, and he wished he could strip down to just his undershirt, surely that would be easier. He felt ridiculous, dressed up like a soldier doll only to shift back and forth in a ragged line.

His group was finally taken to one of the tents to be processed, and by the time Kimblee made it to the front of the line uncountably long minutes had passed. He couldn’t help the little fire of frustration that was lit in his belly, though he did not nurture it and gave no outward sign that it existed. But this was certainly not what he had imagined, when he had been told he must go to war.

Somehow the dust of the air had already coated his skin, though he hadn’t even been here a day, and his shins hurt from standing in one place. The boisterous man from the train was in front of him, and talked the whole time, trying to flirt with a passing blonde woman who was going back and forth with papers. Kimblee had learned his name was Jack Barton, and he was a police officer who already knew how to use a gun, which he would use to pop the head of every traitorous sand-rat he saw. He smelled of alcohol and sweat, and Kimblee already couldn’t stand him.

“Next,” said the woman doing the processing (so many of them here- most of the men went to the battlefield, instead), and it was a pitiful relief to sit in the rickety little chair she had before her desk.

“Kimblee, Zolf J,” she said, looking at her papers, and he agreed with her, which seemed silly, because he could see his own photograph there. She ran through his information, and then paused, frowning to herself- looking at him for the first time, and then back at the page.

“...you’re an alchemist?” 

He told her he was, and it was a small joy to pull out his watch to show her, because he liked looking at it under the light. He kept it well polished.

“You’ll have to wait a moment, I’m supposed to report all the alchemists to…” she said, beginning to stand up from her chair, and as she did so another woman swooped into the tent, swinging around to the desk with purpose; for a second, her appearance startled Kimblee, like it had been unexpected, though there was no reason for that. People were coming and going everywhere here, with purpose or not.

“To me,” said the new woman, who was short and squat and middle-aged, wearing her greying brown hair in a neat bun. She had small features in a round face, and flat little eyes- unremarkable in every way- or at least, she should have been. 

“Another one, that’s good. I’ll take his files.”

Kimblee was put off balance by her, and he didn’t know why, because everything about her was entirely ordinary and yet somehow the combination of all her traits was unsettling. He found himself looking intently at her, like he was trying to see more than there was to see, trying to peel under her skin.

She smiled at him as she gathered his files, a flat, social little smile, the smile of any average, dull witted woman. But it wasn’t just that. There was a light in her narrow brown eyes he didn’t understand, because he had never seen it before. He wondered if the desert heat was giving him hallucinations already, because no one else seemed to see how utterly _strange_ she was. The woman at the desk acted like this was all perfectly normal. Was it?

“You’ll be assigned to a traveling squad once we’ve worked these out,” the woman said to him, and he didn’t have his usual words, so he just nodded at her. There was a moment of silence where they just looked at each other- his blue eyes seeking deep into her brown ones, trying to find the source of the light he saw. Well, it wasn’t quite a light, it was difficult to describe- more like the sensation of a light, hidden somewhere far behind her pupils. Something... _interesting._

She paused only a moment, and then left, turning her too-bright eyes down and waddling quickly out of the tent, like there was nothing unusual about her at all. Because there wasn’t, of course. Kimblee’s brain was probably making things up, to give itself something to do. So far, Ishval had been quite dull, after all.

The rest of the wait until his lodgings for the night were sorted continued to be dull. Everyone else he saw was just ordinary- as flat and simple as blank printer paper in an office. But he didn’t think much about the woman. With all the chatter and the sweltering heat, it was difficult to think of much at all. The melodies of his favourite symphonies- what he usually turned to, in times lacking stimulation- wouldn’t play clearly. When the night fell, and the tents closed, a good deal of the new men tracked down alcohol and celebrated- what a good time, a war. What a fun time for the boys.

Everything on Kimblee either ached, throbbed, or itched, including his mind, which spun with half-dreams of violins and fast-moving rivers and fat bookkeeping women.


	2. Chapter 2

It took a couple of days before everything was sorted, and Kimblee was assigned to his unit. In this time, he peeled the bandages from his palms- the sweat that had gathered under them irritated him too much. The tattoos, thankfully, hadn’t bled- every line was as perfect as he had designed them to be. The skin, however, was red and slightly puffy, even when he doused them in the coldest water he could find.

His unit was annoyingly comprised of semi-new recruits. The common soldiers were men who had finished the standard weapons training (which Kimblee, as an alchemist, did not need to undergo) and had spent a few weeks guarding the main camp from invasions (typically suicide bombers) at night. There was an exception, though, and this was the policeman Barton- since, as he said again and again, he already knew how to use a gun.

“So what, we’re supposed to be babysitting this guy?” Barton said to the unit’s sergeant, speaking of Kimblee. “He looks like a university professor. What’s he going to do?”

Kimblee allowed the sergeant to explain. He didn’t feel any need to talk to Barton. He seemed a foolish man, who spoke unnecessary things- he probably already knew what an alchemist was, and what an alchemist could do, in a place like this. But he was a bull of a man who had to stomp and snort, flex his muscles at everything. Kimblee didn’t like it, but greater than this disdain he felt a need to get moving- he wanted to see what the battlefields were really like. He wanted to get to work. This was a chance to test his formula on human subjects, after all, something he could never get in times of peace.

He hoped it would be as satisfying as he had always imagined.

...these thoughts, Kimblee realized soon, had been too hasty. The battlefield was not as he had expected. 

He wasn’t quite sure exactly what he had been imagining- but it wasn’t _this,_ because this was clumsy. The wind that day had whipped the sand into a frenzy and it ran wild between the narrow streets of a once-town that had been split in two- one half, controlled by the army, the other half, the rebels. Except it wasn’t truly half, the lines were messy, and the Amestrians were disadvantaged by the twists and turns of the alleys, where drills and formations and organization scattered under a single handmade bomb or fast-moving mob of Ishvalan peasants with sticks. It was cacophony.

By the time Kimblee’s unit had made it there, he had been almost sick from the heat, trapped for hours in a tiny metal van against the sweaty bodies of the other men, barely able to breathe and acutely aware of how easy their transportation was to ambush. He couldn’t even see outside. All the men in their heavy uniforms had been meat cooking inside that truck, their faces shining as much as the bullets in their guns.

Kimblee hadn’t been given a gun- and the other men knew it in the way dogs did, with this and Barton’s snide commentary they didn’t respect him. He could see it in the sideways glances that fell his way.

Once out of the cursed truck (arriving safely, at least) they hadn’t even been allowed to fight- the man in charge had been waiting for another group to return, and to get a message, and had yet to figure out what to do with them. Though the war was apparently raging here, Kimblee was told to sit quietly in an open encampment, to wait for orders.

“They keep throwing new recruits at us,” Kimblee overheard him saying, because he said it like Kimblee wasn’t right there, couldn’t hear him. “Do they think that will do anything? It’s hard enough to fight these bastards without greenies in the way…”

Kimblee couldn’t stand that. He felt disgusting already and hadn’t had a cup of coffee in days, and now they were saying he couldn’t work, when all he wanted was to work. He had been eager to come, didn’t they know that? He had waited for something like this since he had taken his State qualification.

“Excuse me,” Kimblee said to the commander, needing to take not but two steps to be in conversational range. Despite his somewhat unruly feelings he was poised, he wasn’t a brute with no control, like those other men. “I don’t understand why we’re waiting around here-”

“Did I say you could talk to me?”

He was interrupted almost immediately, and in his surprise his voice caught in his throat. The commander was looking at him- or rather, looking _through_ him- and his expression was contorted with sun-hot contempt. 

(There were no hidden lights in his eyes.)

“Sit down and shut up, private. You’ll move when I say you move.” the commander continued. Kimblee opened his mouth to say that no, he wasn’t just a _private,_ he could reach for his silver watch- but the man was already leaving, curling his shoulder away, shutting Kimblee out of the world of import that was his discussion. Like Kimblee was just a child, or some fool who knew nothing.

Kimblee did sit after that. To his surprise a red heat so dark it was almost black stirred all the way throughout his veins, distracting him with the depth of its burn. He wasn’t usually so bothered by things like this, but the desert had already worn his patience down. He breathed evenly, and looked around, tried to think of how he would best use his abilities in a place so enclosed like this. What was the name of this Ishvalan city-town that they had been brought to? He didn’t think he had been told. He hadn’t even been shown a map, to see how far they were from the base, how far from Central…

In the sand he drew circles with no meaning, and watched the other men settle in, wandering back and forth and chatting. Waiting for orders, and then for rations, and then to sleep. Not so very different from animals, they were.


	3. Chapter 3

When night fell Kimblee found himself in a sleeping bag, the only shelter an overhang from one of the buildings. No one had given any of the new recruits anything to do that day, other than eat and sit. They hadn’t even been trusted to put away boxes. Out in the open, the night air in the desert was notably colder than the day- suddenly, the uniform he had cursed for its weight was not enough, even combined with the ratty sleeping bag. The cold ate at the tips of his nose and fingers, and he would have started an alchemical fire, but they had been ordered not to make any light. He wasn’t sure, in his distracted state, how he would (or if he could) create heat without light. The snores of the other soldiers who slept and the shuffle of those who didn’t broke the pattern of his thoughts into fragments that he could barely understand. 

Despite this, he too did not sleep.

Some of the more experienced soldiers went back and forth during the night, and some talked in low voices, words he couldn’t hear. The night was quiet- he had expected to hear sounds of fighting, guns or bombs or anything, but he hadn’t, not even during the day. Just what was this place? It was like he had been delivered into a void.

Against the cold white moon, a raven flew, and he watched it land close by, on top of a pile of rations crates- a huge, black bird, like something from an old poem. He hadn’t known that ravens were desert birds. For an instant, this one seemed to look at him- beetle eyes glittering in the moonlight- and it cocked its head, curious. For some reason, this made Kimblee curious, too. He was on the verge of sitting up to get a closer look at it when a machine gun rattle went off.

It was deafeningly loud and hugely surprising, sounding from just across the camp. Kimblee’s heart kickstarted in his chest, forced from a languid, chilled pace to a speed like a steam engine. The weak light suddenly wasn’t enough to combat the rush of bodies rising around him, the yells of confusion and, yes, of fear. There were more gunshots, but he couldn’t tell if it was returning fire or not, the way the dusty stone buildings stood made sound bounce into illusions.

People were yelling; one man was screaming.

Kimblee kicked off the sleeping bag and backed under the overhang where he had lain, unable to do anything else, his eyes and ears straining for something that would make sense. The raven, he saw, was gone, no doubt startled away by the sounds. That was just about all he could see- something sparked off to the right side of the camp, and over the mess he heard the commander's voice ring:

_“It’s an ambush!”_

...and he understood at least, then, that the rebels had come with guns, likely stolen Amestrian ones, and that it was they that had fired first. But who knew what the following gunshots were, or who owned those bodies running back and forth, blurry and blue in the dark?

Kimblee felt sweat on his upper lip, and his stomach was tight, but he realized another thing then- those white, electric sensations burning in his chest, they felt _good._

He raised his palms, which no longer stung, and tried to figure out what he should do. He wasn’t afraid, he was excited, but that excitement was difficult to channel. He couldn’t just let it go, not with all the other soldiers around, never mind the buildings, and yet…

Something white spun in the corner of his vision, and when he turned to look his brain put the shadowy pieces together as a man, a white-haired man in pale clothing charging into the camp with a rifle loose on his shoulder, the nose sparking. His mouth was open and his eyes stretched wide, Kimblee noticed that, he must have been screaming but Kimblee didn’t hear it at all, none of the messy sounds had meaning anymore. The world had become very smooth, the air greased like butter, and even though he should have been worried about the haphazardly firing gun and all the yelling and running, it was easy- _too easy-_ to step out from the shadows of the overhang and pluck the white-haired man from his trajectory, to pull him in close, press his palms flat against his back and _push-_

-let the energy out, the energy that had been sitting inside him for _days-_

-and this explosion, Kimblee did hear.

Strange, how familiar it was- humans behaved much the same as the animals he had used for tests, before getting his watch. Before coming here. Still, it was a wonderful sound. And there was something different- the little spike of euphoria that came with the discharge of alchemical energy in his body was a little stronger here, a little more intense, then it had ever been with the animals.

When the feelings passed Kimblee opened his eyes to review the situation, and it was a pity that the camp was such a mess, because he couldn’t tell what had become of the man- how much had remained intact, where the extremities had gone. But, he reminded himself, this was not an experiment- it was a battle, and that was so much better, in so many ways.

The next flash of paleness he caught under the moon met a similar fate; he didn’t even check to see if this one had a gun before the air burst with millions of droplets of blood and heat, and the strong iron smell. He could tell what they were doing- the battle plan must have been to flood the camp with their forces, an act of brute strength, to overwhelm the sleeping soldiers like an avalanche. Well, that might have worked, what with the lack of defined strategy kept by the military, and all the red-cheeked new recruits lying in their beds with the night’s drink still in their veins. But he was here now.

Everything that happened next had the quality of a lucid dream. The colours of the night were disconnected, white and black and blue that divided into flat shapes with little meaning. He felt every breath in his chest, and the past was of no importance, nor the future. Occasionally his eyes would piece together what he was seeing as a corpse, or the barrel of a gun lying abandoned on the ground, and he would feel a little surge of pride- a modest, deserving pride, he thought, because ‘that’ didn’t have anything in it anymore, and he did. He was _alive._

Once or twice, he grabbed a man wearing the wrong colours- a blue uniform, instead of the pale browns of dust-eaten cloth worn by the rebels. He had the presence of mind to let them go before letting the power out- he was in control, after all, the music playing was matched to his heartbeat, to the waving of his hands.

Someone came running at him, an almost-boy with that distinctive white hair and dirty skin, and it was nothing to push the barrel of the gun aside and take his hand. In the burst that came afterwards, Kimblee found himself looking up towards the clear night sky, and there he saw the raven again. He knew it was the same one, perched atop the spires of a building, he just knew. And he also knew for certain now that it was watching him.

He smiled at it, offering a little salute to the carrion-god, and then he was back into the flow of things. It was like a dance, one with simple steps, and flashes of bright colours to accentuate the music- red, like the silks of exotic ribbon dancers.

Eventually the flood dispersed, the chaos began to settle, and it was around this time that the sun poked his proud head above the horizon, rays like the fur of a lion’s mane peeking through the tops of the dusty stone buildings. The world reformed into its proper design, and reality started to settle its weights into Kimblee’s body; the music became something imaginary once more. He found he was out of breath, and that his muscles ached intensely with the telltale signs of alchemical exhaustion, and that points from his neck down into his arms burned with a pain unlike any he had felt before.

He could tell now, with the coming of that warmer light, that he was covered in blood, and his skin and uniform both were sticky with it.

The grounds of the camp were littered with bodies- some were whole, most were not, making it difficult to tell what belonged where and how many opponents there had really been. A good deal of them were wearing blue uniforms, but these ones were intact, and so Kimblee knew that it hadn’t been his doing. On the other side of the camp things were more clear- there, the waves of the invasion had been met with bullets instead of his alchemic detonations, and so the counting of deaths became easier.

Of the Ishvalans, none were left, and of the army only a handful rose up to claim the sunlight- a few Kimblee recognized, including the man Barton. The spiteful commander he did not see.

They stared at him in the rosy dawn light, and he realized that he must have been frightening to them.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun had traveled many hours before the army began to make proper sense of what had happened during the ambush. Kimblee, for his part, was simply glad to have found a working shower on the army’s side of the divide- the hot water was satisfying, it soothed the dull pains that ground deep against his bones, and it was a relief to be able to run his fingers through his hair. The burning in his neck and arms, he had discovered, actually came from wounds- spots where hot bullets had grazed his skin, sizzling through the night air. One on his shoulder was especially bad, having stripped off a substantial chunk of flesh. That one had been cleaned and wrapped in gauze by one of the two medics who had cropped up after the battle- the wife, for they were husband and wife, both blonde and blue-eyed and a little too nice. It was quite the miracle, she had told him, that none of the bullets had landed- he had agreed with her then, but inside he hadn’t been so sure. He remembered the bright black eyes of the raven, and thought in a heat-crazed kind of way that it hadn’t been a miracle at all. Something had been watching over him- some spirit of the battlefield. But this notion ran down the drain with the blood, because it was nonsense, and Kimblee was not a superstitious man. But still he did not pin his fate on luck- he was good at what he had come to do, that’s all there was to it.

When he emerged clean- wet hair tied back, damp skin pale and shining- the other soldiers who had been in the battle still looked at him strangely. He didn’t care. Without him, they all would have probably died, and it seemed that the new commander he spoke to knew that.

“They’ve gotten too cocky,” he said to those gathered- some higher ranking officers, and Kimblee of course. “The fact that they came all the way into our territory is unforgivable. It’s a mess.”

Kimblee smiled, murmuring his agreement, and his palms tingled. Already, all he could think about was the feeling, the absolute pleasure of being so completely invested in his work as he had been the night before, of such complete control...he shouldn’t let them see it on his face, even he knew that much, but he wanted to fight again as soon as possible.

“We need to push back,” the commander continued. “Show them they can’t come in and walk over us like that. We need to start getting serious- we’re here to reclaim this city, after all.”

There was a small cheer, and Kimblee participated, and only those who had seen the carnage from the previous night fresh seemed to have lost their hot blood. All the other men were invigorated.

It was impossible to eat or sleep well in the terrible climate of Ishval, but still, things were looking up- the next day, Kimblee received orders.


	5. Chapter 5

The dusty roads wavered in the heat, and fat beads of sweat ran between the follicles on Kimblee’s skull, but he didn’t notice. He was paying too much attention to the man in front of him, who was peering past the edge of the building they were crouched behind, waiting for a signal to move. If Kimblee were to stand and peer past his shoulder now, he would see the place the army was narrowing in on, a tall house with boarded windows, a likely candidate for an Ishvalan hideout or weapons stash. The goal today was to take it back- by whatever means necessary. Kimblee didn’t blink as he waited for the other man’s fist to become a point, though he was brimming with so much energy it was difficult to sit still. He felt like he was hungry, even though he had eaten his rations that morning.

A sudden _bang_ smashed through the air like a hammer on glass and everyone was moving- the first shot had been a grenade launched by the army through a hole in the wall on the top floor. Kimblee was running, and the man before him was already firing, and in seconds they were through the front door and into an enclosed, stifling darkness that smelled violently of piss and fear.

A woman screamed somewhere, but bullets were already being sprayed. Amestrian soldiers were trained to shoot first and look later. Someone ran at Kimblee- ran at the door, which was behind Kimblee- and he grabbed them, the gesture yanking off their hood so he could see it was a middle aged woman with long white hair, and that image lasted just long enough for him to understand it before she exploded into a rush of hot blood that sprayed him and the floor and _everything._

So, this place was where they were keeping their women.

The other soldiers figured this out as well, there was a hesitation after that first wave, bodies were scrambling away across the floor, over each other, and for an instant the men weren’t sure- but then the commander’s voice rang out through the dusty air, somehow louder and clearer than seemed natural:

_“Shoot them! Leave none alive!”_

...and then the fire resumed. 

Anyone that slipped past the other men was caught by Kimblee, their long robes of desert modesty were easy to grab onto, and many were so light it was easier still to get his hands somewhere important. In minutes, he was soaked from head to toe in gore, and the inside of the building was absolute chaos- any semblance of formation had collapsed as the soldiers climbed to the upper levels, or found the door to the basement, and the Ishvalans were throwing themselves in every direction, squirming over each other like caged dogs. It was exhilarating.

Amidst all of this, Kimblee caught the eye of another soldier- a young, blonde man, with sharpish features and glittering eyes. Eyes like a lighthouse on a cliff in a dark night. He thought he recognized him- but he didn’t, no, he was sure he hadn’t seen him before, and yet-

The young man smiled at him from across the room, a smile that didn’t seem to belong on his face, and shot one of the Ishvalans in the head.

Then fingers were scrabbling at his sleeve. Kimblee turned and saw one of the women clinging to him with a kitchen knife raised in her hand, and he had to push her aside, letting her burst like an overripe berry beside him. When he looked back, the blonde man was gone, and Kimblee’s eyes skittered back and forth, searching for him. What had that smile been? Somehow his eyes had shone like beacons, brighter than anything Kimblee had ever seen.

The battle was over in under half an hour, and at some point during the building had caught fire, forcing the Amestrian soldiers to evacuate. This time, it seemed everyone was accounted for- no blue uniforms lay among the dead. Kimblee was surprised at how unguarded the place had been.

These thoughts and observations were all secondary to his search for the young man- but even with his height, craning his neck to scan every face in the crowd, he couldn’t find him. Was he still in the building? He couldn’t be. But even double and triple checking the faces of every soldier gathered (how they shied from him as he approached, he must have looked mad, covered in blood and staring so intensely) gained nothing.

Kimblee found himself suddenly thinking of the raven, with its glittering gaze- but that was impossible, so he thought of it no more.

“These were all civilians,” he overheard the commander saying, and he paused to look. The man was covering his mouth with his hand, he looked sick, the skin above his collar pale. “These weren’t rebel enemies…”

“But you ordered it, sir,” said one of the officers standing next to him. This man was sprayed on one side with blood; Kimblee wondered if he had done that. “You ordered us to leave none alive.”

“No, I-” the commander looked shaken. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. Everyone heard you.”

Kimblee looked up at the sky, but it was empty. No clouds, and no black birds either.


	6. Chapter 6

Steadily and surely, the Ishvalan city was being reclaimed. Kimblee had seen the maps (now, they let him see the maps) and after every battle the line of Amestrian blue went forward a little more.

The other lower-ranking soldiers avoided him now. Their gazes dropped when he passed by. Even those in command seemed bothered by him, they were like skittish horses shifting their feet back and forth and smiling fake smiles, sweating just a little bit more under the desert light. But they didn’t say anything. He overheard rumours from other conversations during mealtimes- apparently there were deliberations on turning the war into more than just a war, into an _extermination_. Kimblee didn’t mind the idea. After all, it would make everything so much simpler. He wouldn’t have to hold back at all.

Thinking these things, Kimblee sat in his own corner of the makeshift mess of the day, picking at his evening rations. He couldn’t finish the stew that had been heated up for dinner (again). The stuff sat heavy and thick in his stomach, a ball of lard and salt, and the unpleasant weight of that tipped the regular discomforts and perpetual alchemical exhaustion of the Ishvalan experience into proper misery. This was the part of the war he didn’t enjoy- whenever he wasn’t in the thick of things, he felt vaguely ill, and there was never cold enough water or strong enough coffee (often, there wasn’t any kind of coffee) to pick him up again. Waves of heat trickled down his back, and he felt vaguely nauseous, dizzy when standing up from his seat in the sweltering stone room where the team was camped. Thankfully there was a lavatory down the hall- this place had been an Ishvalan home, after all, and a wealthy one at that. 

Pissing wasn’t as much relief as he would have hoped. He didn’t want to throw up, but it seemed like his body might disagree with him, the way he was sweating and his stomach turning. Another man came into the washroom behind him, and inside he cringed, wishing he could be alone so he could close his eyes and press his forehead into the wall.

“Crimson Alchemist,” said the other man, and Kimblee’s entire back prickled like an army of insects had run down it. Something about the way those words were spoken...well, Kimblee had to turn and face him, now.

He recognized this man, was the first thing he thought. It was clearly one of the soldiers he had been eating with just minutes before, he had seen him back in the mess, what was his name again? An older man, with large arms and silvery hair and sad-looking gray eyes. One of the grunts. Ashton, that was it.

He knew this, but at the same time he knew something else. He recognized this man in double- a feeling like looking at two works rendered in stain glass, their designs overlapping. This was Ashton, but also wasn’t, it was the raven and the woman from the tent and the blonde boy who had smiled at him. Kimblee could tell because of how his eyes glowed.

“What are you?” he asked, surprised at how his voice shook in his throat. He suddenly felt much more awake than he had just moments before. Ashton smiled, and it was a smile that did strange things to Kimblee’s belly, creating little jumping sensations he had never felt before.

“I’ve been watching you,” Ashton said instead of answering, his gruff voice pitching into something singsong that didn’t belong on his lips. “I’ve really enjoyed the work you’ve been doing.”

“I know you’ve been watching me,” Kimblee said, and he was going to justify it- describe the raven, the boy, the prickling of eyes he had felt on the back of his neck- but Ashton continued before he could finish.

“I think some others might enjoy it too,” he said, and he licked his upper front teeth with his tongue. The gesture was slightly revolting on Ashton’s face but Kimblee’s body flushed anyway, and not in an unpleasant manner this time. The way he rolled his head, and stood with his back against the wall, none of it seemed right but Kimblee couldn’t ignore the evidence before his eyes- he _knew_ this man, he had stood in line behind him to get his meal. His eyes were impossible stars, that hidden light filling them up completely.

“What do you want?” Kimblee asked, because the other man (or whatever he was- bird or boy or war-god) was speaking too cryptically for his mind to handle just then; he couldn’t process both those words and the angle at which Ashton held his hips, the way his arms folded across his chest.

“Nothing really,” the other man continued. “Nothing right now. I just wanted to say that...you’re being considered for a _promotion,_ I guess.”

Kimblee didn’t know what in the world he was supposed to say to that, and in the silence the Ashton-thing shrugged, tilting his shoulders and rolling his eyes effeminately, and then moved towards the door to leave. Kimblee almost wanted to tell him not to go, but he himself felt frozen, his feet stuck to the floor and his muscles- even the ones that let him breathe- paralyzed. In the threshold the other man stopped, looking back at him once more-

“You really live up to your name, you know. I’m glad. I had hoped you would be like this.”

Then he was gone, and Kimblee had only the fading image of his smile, which had been a wide, somehow childish, smile. There had been something a little like cruelty in those glittering eyes.

When Kimblee came back from the washroom, Ashton was sitting around a table with a number of the other men, and as Kimblee watched he laughed at a crude joke that had been told, his mouth still full of food. No, that was wrong, that wasn’t what Kimblee had seen at all.

Back at his own seat, Kimblee could barely sit still. He felt like someone had electrocuted him. He had no idea what was happening, and normally that would have been upsetting, but just then it thrilled him beyond belief.


	7. Chapter 7

Time passed.

The rebels were getting more desperate, and that had made them dangerous. The first place Kimblee had landed in was conquered- and the new front was apparently one of their holy cities, and for it they fought tooth and nail, even if they never decisively won. Casualties began to rise on both sides, though more so for the Ishvalans. Kimblee had heard that alchemists were being pushed to the head of missions across the desert. He heard stories told of some, one who made weapons and another who made fire. It didn’t matter much, but in an abstract kind of way Kimblee was glad for the attention. 

(He was sure those others had heard of him, too.)

He wondered if those other alchemists had seen what he had seen- had been met with that strange visitor. 

(He hoped they hadn’t.)

It was a silly thing to concern himself with, maybe. He wasn’t a schoolboy, worked into a fury when his fancy sat with another, no, he had never been like that. But it was troubling, how much he didn’t know, how much he _wanted_ to know- and so the idea that someone else might already have the answers he sought filled him with a bitter, aching heat.

But it was silly, getting _jealous_ over that.

So he shook those feelings and persuaded himself that his interest was purely clinical. Scientific. Something was happening to him that had never happened before, and he had no explanation for it. He had been watching Ashton in the days since they had spoken in the washroom, but the man displayed none of the behaviour that had been so oddly alluring, showed no sign that he remembered what he had said and took no special interest in Kimblee whatsoever. Had that even _been_ Ashton? But how could it not- the thing Kimblee had spoken with had looked just like him.

And then there were the others- Kimblee tried to catalogue every time he had felt the heat of those bright eyes on him, seen something that hadn’t belonged. He had the raven, and the boy from the battle, and the woman from admissions- the first time, he was sure, he had faced this anomaly. It had only come with the desert. He had been followed by these people from the moment he had arrived. Who could they be? Some kind of secret organization, like in a dimestore novel? If he really was dealing with more than one- but he must be. 

After all, there was no such thing as _shapeshifters._

(Unless, of course, there was.)

He had to keep his head on straight, consider only the facts as he knew them- he was a scientist after all. But at the same time, superstition crept around in the shadows of his mind, telling him of legends and children’s tales. There was no evidence in the physical world of angels or demons, or spirits of any kind, but his mind jumped to them whenever the ‘scientific’ train of thought fell flat.

Other than that, there was only one other explanation, and that was that Kimblee himself was going mad. But he didn’t let himself entertain that one. He had always had a firm grip on his mind. He wouldn’t let himself believe anything else.

Though perhaps he was acting a little mad, as of late. He barely slept at night, his mind alive and turning, trying to make sense of things that didn’t make sense. His thoughts were only clear when he was killing, and even then a slight, hopeful expectation was always buzzing just under the surface- the thought that maybe today, he would see it again. He didn’t speak to the other soldiers except when receiving orders, he didn’t entertain himself like some with dirty magazines, this was the only thing he thought of. A puzzle he couldn’t solve. 

He knew he was becoming obsessive- it was the same as when he had first begun his work in alchemy, when he had sought to find the perfect tools for his purpose. He had barely ate or slept then, too. But this seemed even more important- back then, he had known that the answers were in reach, if he could just keep _working,_ but he couldn’t say that now. There was no certainty to this. Nothing made sense.

In his sleeping bag Kimblee put one hand over his heart to still it, disliking the feeling of it thumping in his chest. He wished he was back in Central- just for a moment, just for a day or so, he wished he could have that. He could eat something proper, and get truly clean, go to the symphony, all of that would clear his head and maybe he would be able to think straight. All the dust and dryness, that was what distracted him so from this problem. He resented having to lie here, his only move to wait. During these times his whole body ached from the effort he put into his transmutations, a constant throbbing pain that was forgotten only when the time came to fight again. Under the cover of night, when he was supposed to be sleeping, it was the worst.

If nothing else, he knew he could anticipate another raid tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

The front was messy that day. The army had been drawn into the winding, tall-lipped alleys that formed the underbelly of the city, and in those alleys had been divided. Every once in a while gunshots and voices would wind their way through the walls, distorted, their origin unplaceable, and Kimblee would find himself face to face with an Ishvalan; he was in his usual state by now, and a trail of bloodied bodies marked his path. It seemed that the rebels- though they better knew the territory, and had probably intended to divide the army- were in a similar state of confusion; he knew he had caught a civilian or two in the crossfire, but that didn’t matter, they all looked the same when he was done with them.

All alone in these dusty stone walls, Kimblee was, and once again the world had bent itself wonderfully to his will. Without the clamour of the other soldiers, the scene was rather peaceful. He had only his own power to contend with, and hardly needed to worry about putting his hands on the wrong body. The high walls even offered shade from the scorching sun. He could have sung to himself, were his voice any good, and all the songs that played in his head were fast and optimistic; major, like his rank.

At a crossroads up ahead he spotted another figure- an old Ishvalan woman, and she cringed away from him, trying to run on age-hobbled legs. He didn’t need to speed up to catch her, the power fizzling to attention in his arms again (he knew he would be in unbelievable pain later from all the energy being pushed through his body, but he didn’t care). But the moment he had her in his grip he stopped, recoiling like he had been burned, for when he took her robe in hand she turned to face him.

“It’s you,” he said, suddenly breathless, and in the deep-set wrinkles of her face her eyes were just as he remembered. She didn’t smile at him, though, instead crying in a dry old voice, her hands pulling her robe tight, trying still to stumble away. She was praying, he realized, an Ishvalan prayer, he knew the words because they had fallen from the lips of so many he had taken care of before. He didn’t understand this.

“What are you doing?” Kimblee asked, and his voice was very clear over that of the old woman. She shook her head at him, raising her palms like they could ward him off, keep the bloody spectre at bay. “I know who you are.”

At that the old woman suddenly stopped, her hands dropping, the prayers silenced. She stopped crying, too, her face fell into an expression like disgruntled amusement, and as he watched her posture changed completely- standing a little straighter, putting her hands on her hips.

“No you don’t,” she said. “You don’t know anything.”

He found himself smiling. He had been waiting to see this again for so long.

“I know you’re not an old Ishvalan,” he told her. “I know you every time I see you.”

She was frowning at that, tilting her head to one side, so the robe slipped and revealed thinning white hair that drifted like a halo around her head. 

“What gives me away?” she asked.

“Your eyes,” he told her, honestly. “Your eyes and the way you hold yourself, when you’re not acting.”

It was more than that, but he couldn’t vocalize entirely what he meant. There was something about this that always caught his eye, always summoned his attention in ways nothing else did. Standing there, she seemed to accept his answer with a sigh, and in order to stop her from leaving he found himself talking again. 

“What are you doing here? Looking like that.”

She smirked at him, and the expression was strange on the old woman’s face, twisting her wrinkled mouth unnaturally. “Helping,” she replied, and he going to ask her _who,_ and _with what,_ but talking like that to something like this just didn’t seem right, and that line of conversation was topical in comparison to what he really wanted to know, what came spilling out of his mouth before he decided fully that he was going to say it.

“What do you really look like?”

His heart was beating too quickly as he realized what had been said, his cheeks flushing, though that surely couldn’t have been seen underneath all of the blood. The depth in the old woman’s eyes increased, and she lifted her head proudly, like she could tell how foolish she made him. There was a pause, a moment of charged silence, where she seemed to be considering something- and then with a flicker, the colour of those unusual eyes changed.

The old woman didn’t say anything as she disappeared. 

There was a sound and a light like a transmutation (only the light had been red), and the air had that lightning smell to it, an ozone tang to accompany the warm copper of all the blood. In only a second it was over, and Kimblee’s mouth was dry, his hands forming fists by his sides as though with them he could control all the wild feelings thrashing in his chest.

What a marvellous creature.

Strong but slender, with skin so white it shimmered like a new snowfall. A sensual figure barely disguised by form-fitting dark clothes. Long hair that seemed a colour just slightly lighter than black, falling in uneven strands over wide shoulders and rounded hips. There was some mark there, on their thigh, beneath the high hem of the demi-skirt they were wearing, but he couldn’t pick out what it was in the light- and besides, his eyes were drawn upwards, past a flat, exposed stomach, and an equally flat chest, past the high collar of fabric that wrapped around their neck. The eyes, he could see, were purple, and that colour seemed to exemplify the strange light he had been so attracted to precisely. A little smirk decorated thin white lips on a wide mouth, the skin of which looked too smooth and flawless to be human, to exist in the grit of the desert. But it did belong in that face- yes, he had seen that expression on many faces now, and on each of them it had seemed slightly wrong, but here it was perfect. He knew he was looking at the truth, now. 

(Some wild part of his mind formed thoughts he didn’t ask for- it told him that he was looking at an angel.)

Nearby a gun went off, and Kimblee was startled from his focus, the complete and pure focus he had been devoting to every line of black and white and red he had been presented with. 

People were shouting, but he didn’t want to turn and look. The creature forced his hand, raising one narrow brow at him, and before he could lift a finger to stop them there was another lightning-crackle and from it the raven appeared again, unfolding tremendous black wings and taking off into the air where he couldn’t follow.

A pair of Ishvalan men rounded the corner where they had been standing, one holding a gun, the nose pointed back from whence they had come. Red eyes widened when they saw him, but they were too late to stop, and in a viciousness he covered their faces with his hands and _pushed,_ sending away from himself the fragments of skull and brain matter and blood. It wasn’t enough, the killing feeling, suddenly it wasn’t enough, and he wished these men hadn’t come this way, hadn’t interrupted him.

Another Amestrian soldier spun around that corner in hot pursuit, and he made some strange little noise at the sight of Kimblee, standing there with wide eyes and a red uniform. Thankfully he stopped himself, perhaps knowing that if he had come any closer, Kimblee would have killed him, too.

For the rest of the fight Kimblee was frustrated, seeking out targets with a fury he didn’t usually possess, trying to satisfy the wolves howling in his chest with paltry offerings. By the time it was over, and the raid called off, his bones were aching from the forceful use of his alchemy and wounded in odd places, reckless scrapes and bumps he had won in his desperation. He wasn’t content. 

He needed to see it again.


	9. Chapter 9

The raid had ended up being a disaster; more men had died than anticipated, and some were still missing. Kimblee took this news with little interest- the only problem with it was that the commander managing the units stationed in the city had made them withdraw, pull back to wait for orders from Central. This was frustrating. Kimblee needed to fight now the way others needed to eat- but it seemed that in everyone else, the appetite for the war was fading. The rebels are basically beaten, they said. If we stopped hunting them down there would be no more casualties.

Kimblee’s palms itched whenever he overheard things like that. He couldn’t stand the idea of his work being interrupted because of such talk- because of cowardly men who weren’t strong enough to survive.

The water in the shower had begun to cool; Kimblee was the only one still in there, but the other men knew better than to challenge him for spending the extra time. He was a major, but also he wasn’t like them. They had seen him after battle too many times to say anything to him now.

But today the water didn’t run red. His hair, wet where it clung to his back, was clean. He looked at his hands under the water- the tattoos had settled easily under the skin now. They looked like they had always been a part of him- but he hadn’t been able to use them in days. Just like those pitiful, wasted hours at the start, when he had stepped off the train, when everyone had sat around and done nothing…

The water streaming over his body had become entirely cold, and the pressure was also starting to fail, coming in weakening spurts instead of heavy streams. With a sigh he shut it off, letting the last few drops land on his scalp, reaching around to squeeze the water from his hair.

“You’re slow today,” said a voice he had never heard before, a young voice that sounded like it _burned_ , like metal rubbed together until it smoked. “What’s the matter?”

He turned with his heart already rising in his chest, and there they were- his angel of death. They were just as stunning then as they had been before- seeing them the first time hadn’t prepared him for it. They sat lazily on the bench across from the shower heads, where people left clothes, their legs slightly spread and their arms lax in their lap, fingers playing with the end of the skirt they were wearing. He couldn’t help but notice all these little things in their posture, their movements- for some reason, that information took up all the space in his brain, he could barely think but to watch them tilt their head slowly to one side, a clever little smile curling up the corners of their lips. He was facing them now, and as he stared bright violet eyes slid down his body, lingering. He was burning inside.

“Some men are saying the war is winding down,” he said eventually, and it was only on the fourth or fifth word of the sentence that those eyes flicked back up to his face. “They think Central will send word to start resettling the locals.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” said the angel, and they licked their front teeth with a pink tongue- a gesture he had seen on Ashton’s face before, only now it looked so much more natural. “Don’t you know? King Bradley is coming down to manage things.”

“I didn’t know that,” he replied, and they stood, flexing for a second on bare feet before taking one slow step towards him, and then another. It was like being stalked by some predator animal, a wild cat from a distant jungle, but Kimblee would never have considered trying to flee.

“Yeah, well. This situation has become…” they waved their hand in the air like they were looking for a word, still taking those lazy, measured steps. Kimblee wanted to close the distance but if he did, he thought they might leave. “...critical. The whole nation must invest.”

They were closer now, closer than they had ever been before, and now he could see that the pupils in their violet eyes were slits. They were smiling a little, and between parted lips their teeth were very white, and the canines so sharp they looked like a wolf’s fangs.

“And I know King Bradley. These kinds of things make him... _angry._ And he can do _wonderful_ things when he’s angry.”

They stopped, standing on tiptoe in the water left from the shower, and they were so close Kimblee would barely need move to touch them. Their eyelashes were the same colour as their hair, which he could see now was a kind of dark, mossy green, and their skin didn’t have any pores.

“Tomorrow morning,” they continued, speaking in a lower tone of voice that rasped against the inside of their throat, a voice that sounded painfully intimate at this distance. “A guy called Grand will show up. He has orders- and he’s an alchemist, too.”

One white hand lifted up in the minute space between their chests, like they were going to touch, but Kimblee was still paralyzed.

“He has a present for you,” they said softly. “I think you’ll like it.”

They didn’t touch him. Instead, they pulled away, stepping down and back, turning away with a swish of that long hair, and as they did so Kimblee let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. They were turning to leave, he could tell, and he felt dizzy.

“Wait,” he said, amazed in the back of his mind that he had been able to say even that. “Tell me one more thing.”

The angel (because now his brain compulsively categorized them as such) turned to look at him, wide eyes curious- a little like a child, or maybe like a snake.

“What’s your name?”

Their expression broke into a wide smile as he said that, one that lit up their whole face. They tilted their head back, a proud gesture, and with one arm flicked their hair over their shoulder, and as they did so the colour caught a little in the yellow overhead light. Green, definitely, he hadn’t been wrong.

“I’m _Envy.”_ they purred, and then they were gone.


	10. Chapter 10

“Have a seat, Crimson Alchemist,” said the general, and Kimblee did. Basque Grand was the name of this man, a name that suited his stature, and he had come just as Envy had said he would.

Even just thinking the name made him shiver slightly, and that was nothing to the wildness he had felt the night previous, saying it softly aloud to himself in the dark. Memorizing how it felt on his lips.

“How is everything here?” the large man asked, and Kimblee smiled an easy smile at him.

“Oh, fine,” he said. “Plenty of work to be done.”

This man had a rather metallic look about him, Kimblee thought. Refined iron. It was difficult to tell what he thought of Kimblee from the colours in his eyes.

“I may be the first to let you know,” Grand continued, “but Executive Order 3066 has just been passed. Things are going to change around here.”

Kimblee was glad the pleasantries were over. He had never enjoyed small talk. “How so?” he asked. Grand stared at him, so solid, his expression didn’t change at all even as his next words were born into the air.

“The rebels need to be eliminated,” he said. “All of them. By any means necessary.”

Kimblee thought of flickering violet eyes; _I wouldn’t be too sure about that._ He remembered.

“The rebels,” he said calmly, “...and who are they?”

The air was still for just a second, almost no time at all.

“The Ishvalans,” Grand replied, and Kimblee smiled. The Ishvalans- they had lost in the end, it seemed. That race had failed. The circumstances leading up to it- just or unjust, moral or immoral, whatever standards it would be held to in public tongues- didn’t matter. They had failed.

“I was told you have something for me,” Kimblee said to Grand, and he was pleased to see the very smallest shift in the man’s expression at that, the very tiniest hint of surprise. He wondered what this man knew of Envy- if anything- if Envy visited anyone but him in that lovely shape. If anyone else could spot them wearing another face. 

(He hoped not.)

“I do,” Grand said after a moment. “In concordance with Fuhrer Bradley’s order, alchemists will be pushed to the front lines. Given greater leeway.”

Grand must be contained in that, Kimblee thought, Envy had said he was an alchemist. By the look of the symbols on his gauntlets, he probably worked with metal.

“In the...elimination...of the rebels, your skills will be greatly valued,” Grand continued, and now he moved, drawing a small box from the inside of his jacket, black and unmarked. He placed it on the little wooden table between them, sliding it forward, and Kimblee accepted the gesture only when his hands had drawn away.

“This is simply to ensure that those skills will be put to their best use.”

Kimblee rested his thumb on the latch of the box and looked up at Grand once more- was this man watching him, to see how he would react? His expression had gone back to being as impenetrable as before. Well.

Kimblee opened the box.

Inside there was a small red crystal, slightly shorter than the length of his thumb, sitting in a plump white cushion that had been formed to its shape. It could have been a ruby with the sharpness of the edges, but the colour was very different- there was something both darker and brighter about it, something hard to describe. The colour was muddy but at the same time fluid, a suggestion of movement held in its core, and where it caught the light there was a flicker of something that burned like the stars.

It reminded him of Envy’s eyes.

_I think you’ll like it._

The realization of what this must be hit him like the weight of an anvil. He found his breathing light and high in his chest- and it wasn’t like him to be affected by things like this, but…

“Is this…” he began to say, almost involuntarily, and he couldn’t finish the question because that seemed asinine. He was transported back to his childhood then, when he had sat with the other boys on the wooden floor of the old alchemist’s attic, trying to piece together the meaning of ancient tomes with dog-eared pages. He had seen this there. It was a myth. A myth that so many alchemists chased after fruitlessly, wasting themselves and their careers, because it didn’t- couldn’t- exist…

“A Philosopher’s Stone,” Grand said, and Kimblee nodded like he understood but he didn’t, not entirely. The ‘a’ caught him off guard- he only remembered those words as following a _definite_ article. The suggestion of plurality to it all thrilled Kimblee beyond belief.

“You will use that to amplify your alchemy,” Grand continued. “If you lift it, you can see it is attached to a cord.” Kimblee did, but not because he cared about the cord, he simply wanted to touch it- how marvellous, it was so smooth, and slightly warm against his skin.

“But understand this-” now Kimblee had to look up from it, caught by the grinding tone in Grand’s voice.

“The existence of this is being kept from public record. You are to be as quiet as possible. And you are not, under any circumstances, to attempt to deconstruct it in any way, or examine it using your alchemical knowledge.”

Kimblee wondered if they could stop him if he did.

Still, he agreed, because it was hard to look away from the little stone he was now turning so gently between his fingers. The energy in his blood recognized it. Every part of him was awake.

“So here are the forms,” Grand said, and Kimblee signed them eagerly. He wanted to try it immediately. He wanted to see what he could do. Surely it wouldn’t be long, based on what the man had said before.

Kimblee didn’t take the box with him when he left the command tent, instead concealing the stone under his uniform, zipped tightly into his inner breast pocket where it lay curled in its cord. He would wear it, when the time came.

As he took the first few steps into the exposed desert air again, a young blonde soldier approached, walking quickly- and he recognized them instantly, how open they were, coming to him in public. When they were within reaching distance they smiled at him, a small and clever little smile that looked almost-right on the soldier’s face, and then they were spinning past him, into the tent he had just left.

…

Well, that answered his earlier question, except that it answered no questions at all.

Dismissed and burning from the inside out with white fire, he couldn’t stop to listen in with so many other men bustling about. And besides, he had other matters to attend to.

Was it his imagination, or did he feel the thing lying against his heart stir?


	11. Chapter 11

Kimblee had been given little escort this time.

With a handful of other soldiers he had been sent (inside one of those painful armoured trucks, where it was too hot, and too loud) to the front, a base at the edge of the city slums, where intelligence had reported rebel movement. Apparently some of the Ishvalans rats were trying to escape, setting up caravans. The orders had been simple: destroy their methods of transportation, kill indiscriminately anyone who tried to resist-

-and don’t get in the way of the alchemist.

The other men in the truck couldn’t quite meet his eyes- perhaps they sensed how truly different Kimblee was from them. He was on a level all his own, incomparable to their paltry and order-driven killings. Like street mutts they trembled before a real wolf.

Kimblee didn’t care much about this at all, though. His heart was beating so quickly he felt lightheaded, all his limbs on fire. He could barely sit still, barely breathe, he was too excited. He had to stop himself more than once from taking the Philosopher’s Stone from its secret pocket, because he didn’t know what he would do if he had it in hand. It would be best to wait until the enemy was close by.

When the streets became too narrow, the alleyways of abandoned tents and turned-over baskets too thick, the party had to abandon the truck. It was a relief to step into cleaner air- a desert wind had picked up, and though it was dry, it cooled the sweat on the back of his neck.

“We have to find them in this mess?” one soldier complained, his voice on the edge of hush. “It’s a fucking maze…”

“Not up to you,” snapped the sergeant, in the brusque manner of all military personnel ‘in power’. “We’ll make it...but let Major Kimblee go on ahead.”

Kimblee smiled at the other man to acknowledge this, he had been expecting something of the sort, and already his feet were moving. Of course they wouldn’t want someone with untested destructive equipment in hand so close. And he was happier to work alone. On light feet, stepping through the remains of abandoned lives, he was soon out of earshot of the other soldiers.

In the air above, something caught Kimblee’s eye- and when he looked, he saw it was the dark wingspan of a circling raptor, a slice of night against the blue sky. Even like this, and so far away, he knew them easily. He gave the bird a smile much more genuine than the one he had offered the sergeant.

“Will you help me find the rebels, my dear?” he murmured, uncaring if he was heard, a little surprised at the term of affection that had slipped from his lips. Perhaps reading his mind, the raptor began to fly away from the noon sun, and he followed, the path falling open before him like an alchemical road made just for his feet. Was he blessed? Maybe. He certainly felt that way.

In very little time at all the dusty silence was replaced by sounds of life- many voices speaking in whispers was still a cacophony, a blanket of sounds punctuated in places by the rising wail of an infant or the heady thump of a basket put down carelessly. In the sky, the angel circled.

Yet unseen, Kimblee undid the top buttons of his jacket, and then on a whim undid all the rest, sliding the heavy military coat from his shoulders. It was really too hot under this sun, to be doing work in such heavy clothes. With only the tank top on underneath, his skin was exposed enough to potentially burn, but he didn’t care- it almost didn’t seem possible, so high he felt with the anticipation of power.

With hands that trembled more than he would have liked, Kimblee drew the Philosopher’s Stone from its pocket, unwinding the cord so he could hang it from his neck. Against his chest, the wicked thing seemed to throb, and he was breathless.

It only took a few more steps- around the carcass of an ancient and gutted automobile- for the scene to unfold before his eyes.

There were dozens here- families, mostly, huddles of the elderly in ragged robes and children swaddled in soiled linen. A number of vehicles had been constructed- some with just wheels, and tents to shade their inhabitants, others the fragments of old motorcycles and military cars. Where were they planning to go, into the desert? Did they think they would find solace in that inhospitable place, sending prayers for salvation to their errant gods? Well, they weren’t going anywhere now.

(And as for deities, he saw only one in the sky.)

Kimblee was spotted first by a young woman- how like a spectre he must have seemed, a man with white skin and black hair, an inversion of their own race, standing so calmly. At the sight of him she screamed- yes, to her, he must be the very picture of the devil.

The calamity that followed that scream- people running, some towards and others away, scrambling for things left on the ground- didn’t affect Kimblee at all. The scene unfolded like something underwater. He raised his hands.

The ensuing explosions were beyond anything he could have imagined. 

Like squeezed fruit, the bodies burst- he hadn’t even needed to touch them- and the ground ruptured in a path outward from his feet, leaving little intact save where he stood himself- a podium, for the conductor. The wagons shattered, sending shards of wood spinning through the air, crates and baskets popping, like children’s kettle corn. Those that did not die in the first strike were crushed by these, or speared by the rubble, and those that did not die even then he finished off with naught but another look, turning their brains into bombs or their hearts into grenades.

To think, he needn’t even _move!_

The red power in the stone had bonded with his own alchemy perfectly- like an extension of his hands the energy shot forth, a whip that cracked upon any target he laid eyes on. And the tingling pain that hinted at the beginnings of alchemical exhaustion was not present. He felt as though he could have done something insane then, like blow up the entire city, and it wouldn’t have affected him at all!

When Kimblee was finished the only sounds were those of the settling dust, for there was nothing left intact in the camp. No hearts beat save his own, which was thumping wildly. The final, trailing percussion line to end the piece. He realized that he should have made it last longer- the music had been too wonderful. But it wasn’t his fault, really- this paltry orchestra had been too small for him. He needed a grander theatre than this to host his productions.

Tilting his head, Kimblee looked up at the sky to see the sole member of his audience- he hoped they had enjoyed it as much as he had. It was impossible to read any expression in the distant turnings of the predator bird. He wished they would come down- what a pretty sight it would be, to see _that_ walking barefoot in the blood and rubble.

But they didn’t- they flew away, instead.

That night at the base Kimblee told the region’s general that he didn’t need the other soldiers to accompany him anymore. They hadn’t done any of the work that day, after all. He would manage just fine on his own- in fact, it would be better that way, no chance of anyone getting caught in ‘friendly fire’. 

He said this now, assuming it would be understood- he wouldn’t hold back on the field, even for something like that. Not anymore.

He also had a message sent to Grand, saying that the first test had been a resounding success. He had great anticipations for this ‘tool’ in the future.

Once all these trivial errands were complete, and Kimblee had eaten and washed and the dark was on Ishval once more, his mind caught fire. He barely slept at all. Drawn by temptation he turned the Philosopher’s Stone over and over in his fingers, letting it dance in the moonlight, something bright red sparking in its core. He thought about how it must work until he couldn’t think about it anymore, his mind bouncing from formula to formula, trying to squeeze such an incredible thing into his understanding of the natural universe. It broke all the laws of exchange and energy. Where did that power he had felt so clearly- could feel now, humming against his fingerprints- come from? What could possibly be strong enough to fuel it? He didn’t understand.

This was a feeling he had started becoming accustomed to, as of late. There were quite a few things he didn’t understand. He was up to his neck in mythology, but his eyes were not yet submerged, so he couldn’t see into the heart of the mysteries circling him like vultures did the dead. The Philosopher’s Stone, an impossible device with impossible powers, eyes that watched when he knew he was alone, angels that made wings by changing shape…

No, he would certainly not sleep tonight, every time he thought of it electricity shot through his veins. He wondered now why they had not greeted him on the battlefield- they had seen what he had done, they had known he was alone. How he would have liked to hear their voice again. How he wanted to touch their perfect skin.

_Envy._

Even thinking the name made him shiver.


	12. Chapter 12

The sun was so hot it should have been painful, but Kimblee felt nothing. If he found burns on his exposed shoulders and arms later, he wouldn’t care. Standing on the roof of the Ishvalan church- one of the highest buildings in the town- the desert wind had ample opportunity to tear into the flesh of his lungs as he breathed, but even that he did not feel. Wildly, a part of him- an unscientific, irrational, almost mad part of him that was growing larger every day- believed that these things couldn’t hurt him at all; even something like a stray bullet would be unable to penetrate his skin. He felt invincible. Standing here, the mid afternoon sun surely framed his head like a halo- he was a god, he had the power of a god, and the euphoria of these thoughts was intoxicating. He didn’t even have a score to hold to anymore- the military had given him this town all to himself. They would be coming in tomorrow- to clean up any loose ends- but he knew there would be none. He would conduct until the orchestra was empty, until there were no more musicians to direct.

The Philosopher’s Stone was now like an extension of his very mind. He barely need think of conducting a transmutation to activate it. Even the faintest, most delicate and insubstantial whim that flicked through his thoughts was acted on, and with no cost whatsoever to his own reserves. The malicious little thing burned against his chest, but it was a comforting heat, a brand of power. 

He sampled many unique and wonderful sounds up on his ironic choice of podium. Screams of the individual, screams of the collective, broken buildings and broken families. Was the stone magnifying his hearing? That seemed impossible- but why not? So many things were impossible. He heard every window shatter, every beam drop, every stone wall crumble with perfect clarity. Each sound, new and old, was imprinted in his mind. A music unlike any other- something he hoped he would never forget.

The streets in the Ishvalan town ran red.

Kimblee didn’t hear any wings flapping, but he did hear the slow, crackling hiss, a distinctive sound almost like a transmutation, but not quite. He almost didn’t dare turn around, even when that hiss was followed by low, soft laughter- and he had just been thinking of malicious, little things.

“I’m really enjoying this,” Envy purred, and now Kimblee had to look, already he was smiling like a fool but he couldn’t stop himself. The wind blew their hair around their face, which in the brilliant sunlight was very obviously green, and they were grinning at him with those sweet little fangs bared. “I wanted to see what you would do, all by yourself.”

“Did you arrange this?” Kimblee asked, and the high wind whipped his words from his mouth. The question was vague, he meant many things- they had given him the stone, after all. And who was it, exactly, that had signed off on Kimblee having such freedom in the field? An order like that could have come from any pair of lips. It didn’t matter, to a creature like this.

“I wanted to watch,” Envy said instead of answering, still standing behind him, just slightly too far away, and they licked their front teeth- a gesture he was accustomed to now. “I wanted a front-row seat. So will you show me, Crimson Alchemist?”

 _I’ll play for you,_ Kimblee almost said, but for some reason he was breathless in the face of those bright purple eyes. And besides, it wasn’t something that needed to be said. How many of his performances had been dedicated to this creature? Every one since he had seen their true face, at the very least. Was this feeling what the bards of old meant, when they spoke of their ‘muse’? 

Even though it was somewhat painful to look away (it would be too easy, for Envy to melt into the air when he wasn’t looking) Kimblee turned back to the scene, spreading his arms once more. In the pause, tattered groups of Ishvalan survivors had crawled out from the wreckage, trapped in the mazelike structure of their own architecture, no doubt aiming to disappear into the plains at the far edge of the town. He wouldn’t let them get that far.

Every note he played next- whether it was in a soft soprano, or a percussive bass- he set forth from his fingers with particular care, weaving a precise and elegant piece of music in his head. He wanted to impress, after all, was that really so terrible? Even as he became entranced in the work, he felt the presence of the angel behind him, like a blinding blue light in his imagination, drawing with each crescendo ever so slightly closer.

Kimblee heard them laugh, and he was startled from his reverie because somehow, during the symphony they had crept in and now they were standing right next to him, glowing in the awful sunlight, the wind whipping their hair through the air like ribbons.

“Oh, it’s _beautiful,”_ they said, high voice still full to the brim with laughter, one hand outstretched like they wanted to somehow touch the song he had spun in the dust. “This is _amazing,_ Crimson!”

The shortening of his title felt like a term of affection, and they were standing so close, not even an arm’s length away. When violet eyes turned from the scene to meet his blue ones, the music was suddenly silenced- only one line of melody kept playing, one Kimblee thought he knew, one in an unknown instrument with a timbre oddly similar to Envy’s voice. They were smiling, but only vaguely, white lips slightly parted, and in the silence there was an intense electricity almost too bright to bear. And oh, even if they were an ‘angel’ (or a mystery, at least), Kimblee was a man, made of flesh and blood, and no matter how well composed he liked to keep himself there were some things he simply couldn’t control.

Before his rational mind had entirely decided that it would be okay to give in, Kimblee had them in his arms- it had taken but a fraction of a second to pull them into an embrace, press the overworked marks on his hands to their neck and bare lower back, bring his dry lips against their soft ones. It was an incredible shock to every one of his senses. Envy’s skin was _cold,_ he hadn’t expected that at all- and he had expected less to feel strong fingers wind up into his hair, to feel their body press back.

With that dam broken, Kimblee became insatiable. He had to touch them everywhere. He had been imagining something delicate and insubstantial, like vanishing mist, or the paper angels children made during winter holidays, but Envy was very solid to the touch- like stone. He could feel every muscle through what little they were wearing, body betraying not a single ounce of excess fat. Cold hands pressed against his shoulders, sneaking beneath his undershirt, the chill soothing sunburns that hadn’t quite manifested yet. The way they clung to him signaled something possessive- what a thrill, that they should want him, too! The returned kiss was clearly passionate- he had been silly, fearing that any wayward touch would push this creature away- and even the inside of their mouth was cold, as cold as it was sweet, his tongue in its exploration catching on the fangs that were their canine teeth.

When the kiss broke it was because Kimblee needed to breathe, but neither party moved to untangle their position, faces still so close their noses brushed. One of Envy’s hands crept between them, covering the Philosopher’s Stone and pressing it flat to his heart, which was beating so strongly it felt like his very blood vessels would burst. Kimblee was alive. So many out there were dead, or living like they were dead, and yet he was alive- he had beaten them all.

Envy mouthed something that was lost to the wind, but it might not have been a word, and they kissed and bit at his slack lower lip, his jaw, moving down to the softer skin of his neck where they sank their teeth in- how vicious, and he knew that the spot they were gnawing was above the collar of his military uniform. He laughed. Everything about this was so much better than he could have ever anticipated. Their hair that he now ran through his fingers had a slightly rough texture, like rope.

Envy drew back and licked a stripe from the stinging mark on his throat- he had no doubt that it was bleeding- up to his chin, bringing their lips half together again. They made a funny noise, low in their chest, something like a cross between a laugh and a purr, and he kissed them again- still deeply, but more gently this time. Envy shivered in his arms, and he felt every individual tremor in their muscles.

“Now you’re in trouble,” Envy whispered against his mouth. “I thought I’d stay away- best not get _reprimanded-_ but there’s no helping it now.”

Kimblee understood the significance of that (though he hadn’t the faintest clue what they meant by ‘reprimanded’) and it made his heart rise in his chest- so, he was ensnared now, that was what they said. He had touched the phantom and made it real, so there was no going back. Kimblee would never have wanted to go back anyway- this he told them in another deep kiss, breathing in their scent, which reminded him of a graveyard.

Against him, Envy shifted, and as he watched something in their eyes changed- the colour clouded over, and they licked between his lips only one more time before pulling away fully, head cocked like they could hear something beyond the stirring of the dust and the settling of the rubble. But the town was dead, Kimblee had seen to that.

“I have to go,” they said suddenly, and Kimblee instantly gripped them tighter, even though he knew he couldn’t possibly stop them. The gesture caused their lips to curl up on the ends, slightly mischievous even as they stepped away. “My big brother is coming to see me, and I don’t want him to know about you.”

“Your big brother?” Kimblee asked, the curiosity numbing the discomfort of having them leave. What in the world could that mean? Everything they said was a riddle.

“The arrogant one, not the avaricious,” Envy replied, like that could possibly mean something to him. “I don’t think you two would get along. So I’ll see you around, Crimson.”

Before Kimblee could ask them anything else, or reach out to claim one more kiss, Envy stepped sideways off the roof of the church, falling for an instant much too quickly for their body, before in a flash of red lighting that body changed, and once more they were a creature with wings.

Kimblee watched them fly away in the clear blue of the Ishvalan sky until he couldn’t see them anymore, and only then did he turn back to his work, to the remains of the orchestra he had left lying in the dirt. There was nothing more to be done here- all he had left before him was the dull trudge back to the military camp, where there would be only cold rations, and no place to shower properly for another few days. Hours a deep gray in colour, without even the slightest hint of green, save in the pain from the wound on his throat- when Kimblee reached up to touch it, he found it much deeper than expected, and his hand drew away smeared with blood. The sight made his arousal rush back instantly.

He could still taste them on his lips.


	13. Chapter 13

The desert skies at night were overflowing with stars. That was one nice thing about this place, in comparison to home- perhaps the factory smoke obscured such stars in Central. Lying on his back in his sleeping bag, Kimblee tried to count them, to pick out shapes from the glow- though he didn’t know much about astronomy. His scientific interests had always rested somewhere closer to the ground.

No fires were burning in the camp, and shifts had been set up for night watches- they were deep in Ishvalan territory now, the closest base a day’s drive away. Caution was important. The rebels often used night ambush tactics, since their weaponry was inferior.

Kimblee was supposed to be sleeping, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t remember a night in these last few weeks where he had slept well. He seemed to only drift away in the early morning hours, but even then it was never restful, brimming instead with fever dreams and visions of a world made wrong, where he recognized everything and yet nothing made any sense. A world where the stars were eyes that sucked everything into them, making all who saw them mad. Hardly productive dreams.

He assumed this was taking a toll on him, though he didn’t always feel it. He never felt it when he was working- but sometimes, in the traveling stints between assignments, he would start to lose his grip on the reality around him. His eyes would ache, and he would hear voices he knew weren’t real- often, that of his mother, reminding him to do mundane chores, or to pack for school- and see figures in the clouds or in scatterings of sand that seemed all too real until he looked directly at them.

He knew he had lost weight since arriving in Ishval. He knew that the shadows under his eyes made their gaze alarming. He wondered more and more, these days, if he was actually going mad- it was starting to seem like a possibility, which he couldn’t stand for. He felt like his decisions were perfectly rational, yet he also couldn’t be entirely sure if that was true.

And he still didn’t have an explanation for much of what had happened to him. He had never believed in magic, before. Even that marvellous red stone, he didn’t understand- it was legend for a reason, after all. What could possibly power it, something that waived the first and most important law of alchemy?

Staring into the magnificent array of stars, he felt dizzy- for some reason, the Philosopher’s Stone in his chest pocket had started pulsing, and the motion was oddly mirrored in the lights above him, those distant balls of burning gas. If that was really what stars were, who knew? In the past, many had thought they were the souls of the dead…

“Crimson, wake up,” said a young man, and a hand was shaking his shoulder. “It’s your turn to watch.”

Kimblee was going to say that he hadn’t been asleep, and then swallowed his words, because there was only one who called him that. And he recognized the blonde soldier who had woken him, the clever smile on his face as he turned away. Kimblee hadn’t been expecting another meeting so soon. The wound on his neck hadn’t even healed yet.

(Amusingly, no one had asked him what it was from, even though it looked so obviously like a bite mark. He doubted any of them would be able to guess.)

Kimblee redid the buttons on his jacket, pressing the stone even closer to his heart as he stood, brushing the sleepiness from his body with the wrinkles in his uniform. Envy was watching, and with all his knowledge up for comparison he saw that this body they wore now was very similar to the real one- the facial features were almost identical, just shifted slightly more towards the masculine. And of course, all the colours were wrong.

“We should patrol, Major,” Envy said softly when he had gathered himself. “Secure the perimeter of the camp.”

There was no real reason to do this. They were situated in the middle of a flat desert- nowhere for incoming forces to hide. Under the overbright light of the stars, any approaching figures would be visible. But Kimblee didn’t mind the pretence. Envy held out a hand, and Kimblee took it. Even like this, their skin was cold- perhaps that was something that couldn't be changed.

When the camp was out of hearing range, Envy transformed, shredding the uniform into the air and replacing it with those dark, revealing clothes. The starlight put a faint blue tint into their skin, and the green in their hair wasn’t visible at all, but still their eyes glowed when they smiled at him. They hadn’t let go of his hand, and Kimblee didn’t want them to. 

As a test, to see what Envy would do, Kimblee leaned in and kissed them on the mouth, a very gentle, soft kiss. They accepted it completely- even leaning in for more, they were so bold, and _strong_ too- and he smiled. So that hadn’t been a fluke, the first time.

“Did you miss me?” Envy asked, their tone of voice much sweeter than when in character as the young soldier.

“Yes,” Kimblee replied automatically. “I always do.”

Envy bit their lower lip, like they were trying to hold back the smile pulling up the end of their mouth. Their eyes were shining. An innocent look like this had to be a joke.

“Really? A handsome man like you?” Envy cooed, cocking their head like a bird. They pressed in close under his chin, suddenly squeezing his hand tighter, and there was a strange look in their eyes he didn’t quite understand.

“And a wealthy State Alchemist, too. Surely, the girls in Central are lining up around the block.”

They licked the underside of his chin, a tiny and kittenish motion, but something about it betrayed a sense of danger, burning low and hot in the desert air.

“It’s hard to believe there’s no one waiting for you back there,” Envy continued, and he could feel their cold breath on the wet spot they had left on his skin. “No one who might be upset to see you gallivanting around out here, with a... _well.”_

“You won’t tell me what you are?” Kimblee asked, speaking softly because it seemed like any heightened volume would break some delicate thing in the atmosphere, something holding back incredible violence. The smile slipped from Envy’s face, and Kimblee’s gut lurched, which was a wonderfully exciting feeling.

“No, I don’t think so,” they said, and though their grip on his fingers relaxed, the strange energy surrounding them did not.

“I’ve never been the type for romantic entanglements,” Kimblee said after a beat or two had passed. “No one ever holds my interest for long.”

One narrow green eyebrow went up, and Kimblee wondered if they had caught his compliment. Even the smallest movements they made were fascinating.

Envy stepped away from him, but he didn’t think they were leaving, not this time.

“What does interest you, then, Alchemist?”

They walked slowly and carefully on the dry earth, spinning delicately on their tiptoes, like a dance. Kimblee followed, unwilling, quite, to let the distance between them change.

“I love my work,” he replied, and Envy grinned a very wide and sharp grin, a flash of something fragmented and vicious. “Ishval has been a wonderful opportunity for me. Perhaps I should thank their desert god, for making them stubborn enough to resist the annexation so fiercely.”

Envy stopped moving at that, and he closed the distance between his body and theirs. The smile on their face had morphed slightly, becoming sly, the light inside their eyes blooming even brighter. 

“Maybe you should thank _me,”_ they hissed, their voice a broken whisper, rising in places like laughter was going to come through. Kimblee was having trouble breathing evenly once more, they had put their hands on his chest, and he had settled his around their narrow waist. He could feel their spine under his thumb.

“Do you have something to tell me?” he asked, eyes caught in all the minute flickerings of emotion passing across their face.

“Do you remember how it all started?” Envy replied, so close once more that their breath was cold on his face. They must have been standing on tiptoe. “Do you know why we went to war?”

“The annexation was rough,” Kimblee replied, thoughtful, he always read newspapers but at the time he had been so wrapped up in his studies- having been working towards his State qualification- the matter hadn’t interested him much. “The Ishvalans weren’t happy about the change in leadership.”

“And then?”

“And then...there was an accident.”

(Yes, he remembered now.)

“An Amestrian soldier shot and killed an Ishvalan child- something to do with improper firearm training. But the Ishvalans didn’t care. That was enough to kickstart a full rebellion.”

Envy was watching him, head turning slowly to the side- so many of their gestures were animalistic- and that secretive smile kept spreading as he spoke, until it had consumed their entire face.

“Mm, yes,” they purred when he was done. “That’s almost right. But you’re missing something.”

“Oh?”

Envy shivered against him- he felt it all, and for some reason the stone in its pouch seemed to shiver, too.

“Maybe, it wasn’t...an _accident,_ per se,” they murmured. Kimblee raised his eyebrows.

“You mean that the soldier wanted to kill that child?” That would surprise him. Very few men were like that. Even in the heat of battle, most would shy away from something so brutal.

“Oh, no, he didn’t,” Envy said. “He would _never_ want something like that. A total pacifist. Hated the whole annexation- complained the entire time, isolated himself from the rest.”

Envy lifted one of Kimblee’s arms and spun lazily under it, once more a dance, but only to the music of memories. Kimblee didn’t interrupt again. They seemed lost in their telling of the story.

“He was all by himself when it happened. Sitting alone in some back alley, reading poetry. When they came and got him, he swore he hadn’t done it. He swore he would _never._ He didn’t even know what they were _talking_ about.”

Envy wasn’t looking at Kimblee at all anymore, but still they were dancing with him, letting him guide them slowly in waltz steps, one hand on their waist.

“But, no one had seen him there. And _many_ people had seen him in the square- drawing his gun and blowing that little girl’s brains out. He denied it the whole way, but no one believed him.”

“So he was mad, then?” Kimblee asked, for nothing more, really, than to bring their eyes back to him. Their hand where it rested on his shoulder seemed too heavy, but they didn’t look like they were pressing down on purpose.

“Oh, no, he wasn’t mad,” Envy told him, and their smile now was so bright it was almost blinding, directed right at him. They looked so _happy,_ a kind of happiness that seemed shattered and sharp like broken glass, and they were very, very beautiful. “I told you, he didn’t do it.”

In the silence after their words Kimblee finally understood what they were trying to tell him, and the realization was enough to make him stop in his tracks, the dance coming to an abrupt standstill.

 _“You_ did,” he whispered, and Envy rolled their head back in his arms and _laughed._

Kimblee knew then that he had been terrifyingly wrong- this wasn’t an angel, it was a _demon._ This knowledge, accompanied by that high and wicked voice, sent a wave of hot arousal down his body.

Envy came back down from their laughter with a surprised expression on their face, and then they smirked, grinding their hips forward against his.

“What’s this? Did I say something you liked?” 

Kimblee let them stay so painfully close, let them wrap their arms around his neck, because suddenly he wanted to touch them everywhere, mark every inch of pale skin to make sure it was real, not some desert hallucination. For something like this to have come to him, it seemed impossible, like a dream. Envy started kissing him, and unlike earlier it was _hot,_ he could feel their teeth grazing carelessly over his skin, and an impossible density in every one of their bones. Something scraped over the back of his uniform- claws? He felt the fabric start to shred.

 _“What are you,”_ Kimblee demanded suddenly, breaking away. Envy wriggled in his arms, lips still wet and parted, and he kissed their cheek but not their mouth when it was offered, and the churning feeling rising inside him was very much like desperation. “Tell me. I don’t understand.”

Envy suddenly wasn’t smiling anymore, but there wasn’t the same kind of danger hovering in the air, not like when they had been talking about ‘girls in Central’. 

“No,” they growled, and somehow their arms were keeping him at bay, even as he tried to pull them close again.

“After what you’ve just said, it can’t be so terrible a secret, darling-”

Envy suddenly shoved him away, and he was so surprised he almost didn’t feel his body hit the ground. Envy looked wild standing over him like that, catching all the moonlight in their figure and burning with it. That would make him the lunatic, then, so obsessed with the cold unreachable thing in the night sky.

“You _like_ me,” Envy said, their voice close to shouting. “You must think I’m _pretty,_ don’t you?”

“...of course I do,” Kimblee said from the ground, holding up one hand like he meant to placate a savage animal, even though his hands had not been made for peace. The answer smoothed over the anger. Envy suddenly became calm, but the sweetness didn’t return- they looked hard standing there, like a sculpture, as solid as stone.

“So _there,”_ they snapped. They moved- twisting away on their heel- and Kimblee knew what they were going to do so he reached out, but he couldn’t stop them, and with red lightning and the beating of wings they were gone.

Without them, the stars were much dimmer.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a doozy.

Kimblee didn’t see Envy face to face again for over a week. The bite on his neck became a bruise, and then faded entirely, and he resented seeing it go in the mirror. His work slowed down, too, he wasn’t given any assignment so ostentatious as that day in the rebel town, when he had kissed them for the first time. Funny, how the two things he enjoyed most in life seemed to come together. And when apart, somehow he suffered- he found himself becoming sloppy at times, lost in unnecessary thoughts, leaving pieces with their final act in tatters- a body that stirred here, an arm removed there, a monk left with a scarred face and a still-beating heart. Assuming carelessly that all the rats would bleed out. Thinking that it didn’t matter.

At night Kimblee scolded himself for this. It _did_ matter. He shouldn’t be letting his feelings get in the way of his work.

And the secrets that Envy wouldn’t share with him, those mattered too. He didn’t understand them at all. He had no idea what they were- no idea that made any kind of scientific sense, nothing that he could make himself believe without destroying the world as he knew it, or admitting that he was insane. He had no idea why they behaved so strangely- how they could have danced with him one moment, and pushed him away the very next.

But as the time apart stretched on, these concerns became dwarfed by another. Even if he didn’t understand, Kimblee wanted desperately to see them again, too. They were more than some scientific puzzle, more than just a mystery for him to solve. Thinking of the feral smile they had worn, telling him of the truth behind the war, that stirred something in his heart, not his mind. And perhaps that was more terrible than the not knowing.

At times, he felt eyes on the back of his neck, the stirrings of a desirable impression- but when he turned there was nothing, or just the faintest flicker of something moving away. He would scour the faces of the soldiers and rebels he saw alike, and sometimes he would catch a flash of those glittering eyes, only to blink and find there was nothing there at all- or there was something that had dissipated like smoke on a dark night. He wondered why they were watching, why they never said a word. He wondered if they knew how fake his composure became, as they continuously slipped away. If they knew how desperately he wanted to hold them- just as desperately as he wanted to tear them open and reach into their core and find the incomprehensible things in the center of their slitted pupils.

The formidable Crimson Alchemist, made into a lovesick fool. What a powerful creature they were, really. No one had ever done that to him before.

Though it was midday in Ishval, the sun was dim when they came to him next. Rare clouds had settled in the sky- not rain clouds, though, and so perhaps not clouds at all, but maybe haze from the work of the prolific Flame Alchemist Kimblee had heard talk of in the camp.

Kimblee was standing in what was left of a town square, tasting the air, and blood pooled on the cobblestones thick enough to wash his boots. He had returned to his old techniques today. It wasn’t that he liked being covered in blood- the opposite was true, really, he tended to pride himself in his cleanliness and organization- but it had seemed more natural to do it this way, here. The stone sat so heavy around his neck.

He heard the soft, padding sound of footsteps on stone, and he closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, and then out. The air reeked of death, and all was silent, save the call of distant gunfire and the wet splashing of bare feet in the blood. He wouldn’t look yet, just in case they chose to spite him again. It was only when cold fingertips touched Kimblee’s jaw that he opened his eyes. 

He had decided very thoroughly by now that Envy was exquisite, but the sight of them still stunned something in his brain.

“Crimson,” they said, and Kimblee smiled.

“By name and nature, my dear.”

“Clearly,” Envy chirped, and then they were smiling too, a lighthearted and mischievous smile. They didn’t seem to mind the mess one bit, cuddling up to his chest like he wasn’t covered in ash and powdered stone, soaked in human blood. They probably liked it. What a perfect little monster he had in his arms.

“You’ve been working hard,” they continued, propping their body up on tiptoe, so their nose could brush against his cheek. Kimblee hummed.

“What does it feel like? Doing alchemy?” they asked against his skin, fingers playing with the buttons on his uniform. Kimblee considered this.

“It’s a unique feeling,” he said, running his fingers through their hair, darkening the green with clumps of purplish red. “Like having a kind of slow-moving lightning discharge through your body, all the way from your feet up into the palms of your hands.”

“And with this?” They rubbed one cold palm over the lump in his jacket where the stone sat against his chest, still warm from being used.

“It’s wonderful. It takes away all the...rawness, all of the discomfort and fatigue. It makes transmutations as easy as thought. So thank you, for giving it to me.”

The last part he included purposefully- hanging something warm in the air, to make up for whatever he had done last time, whatever unintended slight of words had made them so upset.

Envy giggled, wrapping their arms around his neck like they wanted to rub the blood all over themself, little fangs gleaming in the hazy light.

“You’re a charmer,” they said. “So tell me more. Do you like to lie? Is it easy for you?”

“I wouldn’t say I like to,” Kimblee replied uncertainly, and he didn’t understand how they thought at all, where a question like that would come from. “I certainly don’t make a habit of it. But sometimes it must be done.”

Envy didn’t say anything right away, turning their head slowly, like they were processing his answer, and Kimblee took the advantage to speak.

“But you like to lie, don’t you? You like pretending to be what you’re not.”

He had thought that would please them- after what they had admitted to him, the last night they had been together- but instead their smile dropped, their brow furrowing.

“Who’s to say I’m pretending? What do you know, about what I am?” 

“Nothing,” Kimblee said, thankful that despite the frown they had stayed close to him, still balanced on tiptoe like they wanted to kiss. “Nothing, darling. You have made that very clear.”

He did kiss them then, a warm and easy kiss, and he felt their muscles shift under his hands, relaxing and tensing up again in waves. The smell of smoke had settling in their skin, along with the unusual and ever-present mossy scent in their hair.

“Hey,” Envy said against his lips, their eyelashes brushing his cheek. “What _do_ you think I am? If you had to guess.”

This question was a dangerous one, Kimblee could tell, though perhaps not quite as dangerous as the ones about his theoretical love life in Central. The smile he could feel against his mouth was a vicious one. The sense of danger in the air was intoxicating- could Envy kill him, right now, if they tried? Who was stronger? He didn’t even know, and that electric uncertainty was exciting.

“When I saw you first, I thought you were an angel,” he murmured, and he could tell he surprised them, saw their lips part and their eyes widen. He wondered what that meant- had he touched on some inconceivable truth? Or had they assumed his imagination was lacking? “An angel of death. But something like that wouldn’t tell stories the way you do, so now I think you’re a demon, instead.”

Envy giggled, the sound high-pitched and strange, and because they were so different from anyone he had ever met, they were enchanting.

“I like that,” they said. “I could do that. And demons are like fallen angels, aren’t they? I wonder…”

Envy stepped back slightly, eyes darting from side to side in their head, and then red lightning came to life on their back. The flesh of their shoulder blades suddenly ballooned outwards, an explosion like a blooming flower. The petals were white feathers, the plumage of a dove.

When they were finished, Envy stretched out a pair of massive white wings, the span nearly double the height of their body. They laughed, and Kimblee could do nothing but stare- the flawless angel wings were juxtaposed with the blood that had splashed up their legs and smeared across their face and arms. This was more than he had dreamt of. He must be the luckiest man in the world.

“But for a demon, it would be more like this,” Envy said, still laughing, admiring what they had made. In a wave, the feathers dissipated, dissolving into the air like ash. What remained were the long, narrow bones and tightly stretched skin of a bat, on wings just as huge, and as black as the previous pair had been white.

“I don’t think I could actually fly like this,” Envy said, flapping the wings in tiny motions that blew back Kimblee’s hair. “Human bodies are a little unwieldy. But it looks nice.”

“You are amazing,” Kimblee said, though he hadn’t quite intended to, the words had somehow poured from his mouth. “The things you can do…”

Envy smiled at him, but it seemed a shyer smile than before, and something in their eyes suggested that they would have been blushing if their blood wasn’t so cold.

If they were going to say anything more, Kimblee didn’t let them. He took the single step needed to close the distance, and tilted Envy’s chin up to kiss them, desperate like a man who had been starved. All the glittering excitement and aching arousal that he had been keeping for this creature came to a head in seeing them pose for him, seeing them smile so sweetly while covered in the blood of people he had killed.

The black wings wrapped around him as the kiss progressed, cutting out the weak sunlight, leaving Kimblee in a dark world comprised of nothing but cold skin and sharp teeth and the burning, metal smell of violent death. He was not the type to truly believe he could have stayed in such a world forever, but the idea was tempting.

With a harsh bite to his lower lip Envy broke the kiss- they were panting with him, mouth wet and fingers digging into his back- hearing something he hadn’t. The wings pulled back to let in the light again, bringing with it an invasion of new sounds- heavy footsteps, the rustle of a military uniform. Kimblee looked, surprised- he recognized the man standing there, with his gun falteringly raised; it was Jack Barton, the brute he had so disliked, on his first days in Ishval. He hadn’t even known the man was still alive. How different he looked from all those weeks (was it months, now? he hadn’t been keeping track) ago, when he had been standing tall and proud in the new light. Barton had a shriveled look to him now, like someone who had been made to eat his words and found them sour. Like someone whose eyes had been gouged out by what they looked upon.

“Oh, a soldier,” said Envy in a dismissive tone of voice, turning away to nip at Kimblee’s jaw, clearly requesting another kiss.

“What is that thing?” Barton asked in a trembling voice. He was all alone- what had happened to his squadron? Could they all be dead? Still he hadn’t quite put down his gun, which was aimed waveringly at some spot on Envy’s waist.

“Ignore him,” Envy purred, though there was an edge in their voice. “Or make him go away. I want you to myself.”

“Selfish,” Kimblee murmured, rubbing their back, and he accepted the offering then, kissing them lightly on the mouth- though he couldn’t quite make himself look away from the man with the gun.

“Alchemist, what is it?!” Barton yelled, and Envy growled, pulling back and flaring their wings.

“Fuck off, you idiot-” Envy started to say, taking a step away from Kimblee and towards Barton, and as they did so Barton yelled something that sounded like ‘monster’, and shot them in the chest.

Time stopped.

Envy’s wings disappeared. The small burst of blood Kimblee saw come from them was as red as the contents of any human’s veins. The shot had landed directly where their heart should be. Kimblee didn’t like the sound playing in his head- there wasn’t a proper melody at all, only one droning, dissonant chord, like every instrument was playing a different note at once. He couldn’t hear anything but that as he watched Envy try to catch themself and slip on the blood, falling to their knees, one hand raised to their chest where lightning flickered, faintly.

Kimblee barely thought at all, turning to look at Barton, and the stone caught fire against his chest, the marks on his palms burning like he had been branded. The explosion was the most forceful he had ever applied to a single target- every part of Barton burst, his heart and brain and bone marrow torn apart and sent in every cosmic direction. The power Kimblee sent out made him, in a sense, into a bomb- the cobblestones where he had been standing shattered, and the walls of the buildings on either side buckled, and the air was filled with a fine pink mist that speckled Kimblee’s skin.

In the following silence, Envy giggled, and the world began spinning again.

Kimblee knelt, uncaring if his uniform trousers were stained anew, pulling from his pocket a kerchief to press to the bulletwound on Envy’s chest. He knew a little about battlefield first aid, enough to say that the blood had to be kept in, that pressure should be put on the opening. How far to the nearest medic’s tent? He didn’t even know-

“Wow, you just destroyed him,” Envy said, grinning despite how their own blood stained their teeth. “Was that for me?”

Envy took his hand and pulled it away from their chest (too strong, he couldn’t even resist them), and Kimblee didn’t quite understand what he saw.

“Look,” Envy chirped, and they fished around in the puddle they were sitting in, lifting up something for him to see- a single bullet, Amestrian military caliber, coated in blood just like their fingers. “I can’t believe he _shot_ me. That hurts, you know.”

There was no wound on their chest. Both the skin and cloth were perfectly intact.

“Kimblee?”

Their purple eyes were so bright. The expression on their face was so innocent, and once again, Kimblee didn’t understand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t act sooner, my dear,” Kimblee said, his voice coming from some trancelike place in his mind, the calm place that was registering and processing this new information. “Something like that would hurt very badly.”

“Yeah,” Envy said, and they giggled again, scootching forward until they were close enough to wrap their arms around Kimblee’s neck once more. “And you really are a perfect gentleman. I enjoyed that a lot.”

Whether they meant his obvious concern for their life, or the butchering of the other soldier (more likely, Kimblee thought, the latter) didn’t seem to matter. Envy kissed him again, like they hadn’t been interrupted, and he found that their blood, though red, tasted different from the human variety- there was something strange in it that reminded him of antiseptic.

Come to think of it, had he ever felt their heart beating?

To test it, he put a hand to their chest during the kiss, swallowing the little moan they made against his lips. Something did pulse there, but not with the rhythm of a human heart, and the source of the movement was located in the center of their chest instead of the left breast. 

“You wanna see?” Envy said softly into his skin, and one cold hand settled over Kimblee’s, holding it to their body. “You keep saying you want to know what I am.”

“Are you going to tell me?” he asked, shivering at how they smiled, at how he could feel them breathing under his palm. 

“No,” they said. “But I’ll give you a hint.”

They licked their teeth (a gesture which never failed to spark Kimblee’s arousal) and pulled his hand down their body to rest it on their stomach. As they did so, the soft black cloth that covered their chest crackled away into nothing, exposing more white skin over hard muscles and two small, pale nipples, the skin of them holding naught but the faintest hint of pink.

“Oh,” Kimblee said, because he instantly wanted to touch those nipples, to put them in his mouth and feel their softness against his tongue. Envy simply laughed at him. They lifted their free hand, and in another flash of red lightning the fingernails of that hand transformed into long, clear claws, tiny blades that caught even the hazy light around them.

“Now, this is hardly the Ultimate Spear,” Envy chirped, another incomprehensible statement, “but it will do well enough. Watch.”

Kimblee obeyed, silent and frozen, forcing himself to close his mouth.

Envy lifted their sharpened hand to their newly bared breast, placing one finger in the divot between their collar bones. He could tell already what they were going to do, and his stomach instinctively lurched.

The line they cut into their skin was straight and very deep. The wet tearing sounds of flesh parting betrayed a wound that dug all the way through muscle tissue. Blood began to drip down over Kimblee’s hand where it was still pressed flat to Envy’s skin- there he could feel their abdominal muscles tensing, perhaps from the pain. When the cut was finished it extended from the base of their neck to the end of their ribcage, just above Kimblee’s fingers. Against his flesh, they were trembling.

But they didn’t look unhappy. Grinning, they released his hand, and lifted their own, digging their fingers into the wound, peeling their flesh apart the way someone might open a curtain. It was a gory gesture, their own blood was soaking their belly by now, but Kimblee would never even think of looking away.

What they revealed inside was astonishing.

Kimblee would have expected to see a bone somewhere in there, or other natural parts of a chest cavity, like lungs. But there was no such thing. Envy’s insides seemed to be made of hundreds upon hundreds of twisting, fleshy tubes that clenched wetly in the exposing air, writhing and shifting like they wanted to burrow deeper in. And at the center of it all, something even more magical- a brilliant, gleaming red stone. He recognized the way light churned inside that stone, he had only ever seen that precise shade of red in one other place before. The breath Kimblee let out was one of wonder.

“A Philosopher’s Stone,” he whispered, and Envy smiled at him. So this was what he had felt pulsing against him. This was why his own stone seemed to stir whenever they came near- it was reacting to one of its own kind. 

Kimblee lifted his hand, wanting to reach into them and touch, but he was batted away.

“So forward,” Envy cooed, and Kimblee shook himself. He was being childish, like a boy at a zoo.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That wasn’t very courteous of me.”

Envy hummed, turning their head to one side, watching him a moment more. Then, as though a spell had been broken, they shrugged and the wound closed up, folding together in another flash of red light. In an instant, the only sign that it had ever been there was the blood on their stomach, which they did let him touch. Marvellous. Absolutely marvellous.

“Thank you,” Envy said, somewhat softly, and Kimblee realized he had spoken aloud. In the following silence they continued to look at him, violet eyes open, holding something soft inside them that he hadn’t seen before. With one bloody hand he reached up and cupped their face, and they nuzzled back into his palm, uncaring of the red streak he smeared across their cheek with his thumb. They were very beautiful, in an atypical kind of way. Certainly, they weren’t anything like the classic Amestrian view of beauty, which usually had luscious hair and rosy cheeks, soft rounds instead of hard angles. But Kimblee didn’t care.

Suddenly, the sound of boots on stone and semi-hushed voices came to Kimblee’s ear, and his heart instantly sank. So Barton hadn’t been alone- he had been scouting for a troop. He knew Envy wouldn’t stand to be seen by so many people at once- people who could confirm to each other the sight, be sure it had not been a desert hallucination. They would surely leave him soon.

To catch one last glimpse of their face he looked back at them, instead of towards the approaching noise, watched them bite their lower lip in thought. They still hadn’t rematerialized the top they usually wore- but there was no reason for a creature such as this to have any concerns about nudity.

“Come on,” they said suddenly, taking his hand. “Let’s go before they get here.”

The grip of their fingers was strong around his. Kimblee was surprised by this new development- and delighted; they had never brought him with them before. Perhaps, in baring their heart to him, another level of entanglement had been reached. After the first kiss, Kimblee could not escape, but maybe they couldn’t escape now, either.

He followed them into one of the narrow stone alleys that was so characteristic of Ishvalan city planning, leaving the square with its mounds of unidentifiable bodies behind. Shadows closed over Kimblee’s head. He had a feeling like he was walking into another world, past some invisible gate, but that was (of course) impossible.

Envy lead him down a left turn, and then a right, and then stopped behind a squat stone house with a wooden back door. The air was silent here, save their breathing. They hadn’t let go of Kimblee’s hand even once.

“You know, in Xerxes,” they said, “on a certain day, people would paint goat’s blood over their doors. If they didn’t, a spirit would come and kill all who lived inside.”

Xerxes? The dead civilization of the East? There were plenty of people who studied the Xerxian classics, but Kimblee never had. He didn’t know what story they were speaking of- if it was even a story at all.

“These folks seem to have forgotten,” they continued, their voice alight with malice, and like it was nothing they raised one leg and kicked the door in, the wood shattering. Inside, someone shrieked.

“Go on, Crimson Alchemist,” Envy said. “Do what you came here for.”

Kimblee obeyed as easily as they had opened the door, letting their cold fingers slip from his as he stepped into the house. Immediately a beam of wood was swung towards his head- a table leg, probably- but Kimblee sidestepped, catching the arm of the offender between his palms and reducing it to nothing. A man’s voice screamed a scream of incredible pain, the kind of pain that could only come from having a limb forcefully removed. Deeper inside, a woman shouted something- likely a name. Behind him, Envy was laughing.

The mix of these sounds was very pleasant. Kimblee caught the man who was screaming and spread the rest of him around the house. The light inside was dim, coming in only through the cracks in boarded up windows- the Ishvalans had been very thorough in their hiding. How had Envy sensed them? With the Philosopher’s Stone Kimblee burst the head of the woman and once she was gone the only sound left was of soft, twin breathing, the shuddering emissions of two sets of miniature lungs. Kimblee found the source easily- hiding behind a small wall of cardboard boxes were two Ishvalan children.

Envy crept up behind him and wrapped their arms about his waist; they must have been standing on tiptoe, because they rested their chin on his shoulder. The smaller of the two children began to cry, and the older one hushed her, pulling her close to his chest. The expression in his wide red eyes was one of pure, raw fear.

“Such little things,” Envy whispered in his ear, silky and evil. “Innocents.”

Kimblee knew what they wanted him to do, their tone of voice was overflowing with bloodlust. Perhaps it was things like this that Envy enjoyed most of all. Kimblee raised his hands.

When he was done Envy let out a little moan. “Perfect,” they breathed into his ear. “You are _perfect.”_

With too-strong hands they turned him around again, pulling him into a very passionate kiss, and as they did so he felt their fingers fumbling with his uniform, undoing the buttons. He hadn’t thought they would enjoy it that much. But he wasn’t going to deny them.

When the jacket was gone Kimblee broke away to pull the undershirt off over his head, as it was still mostly clean and could be salvaged. When his skin was bare Envy practically attacked him, mouthing at his neck and chest, barely giving him enough space to shed his trousers, too. Envy giggled into his skin, and then they were pulling him over to a bed the Ishvalans had left in the corner- a flat little stack of blankets and thin cotton mattresses. A place where no doubt the entire family had slept- but no one lived here anymore. And even if this thought wasn’t especially arousing to Kimblee, everything that Envy did was, and all the feelings he had been developing for them had been stewing inside him for weeks, now desperate to be unleashed.

When Kimblee was entirely naked Envy pushed him down onto his back and paused a moment to look at him. He could have sworn they purred like a cat. Cold fingertips snaked down his abdomen, darting lightly over his hipbones, and then even more delicately found the base of his cock, which was standing tall under the attention. The lack of physical warmth in their touch did nothing to diminish it.

“Nice,” Envy said under their breath. “I like this.”

“I’m glad,” Kimblee said, amused, and with one hand he rubbed their thigh, over the circling red tattoo they had placed there. “And what about yourself?”

Envy looked up at him and grinned. In an instant the rest of their clothing had crackled away. Kimblee’s gaze was drawn immediately between their legs- he saw they had no pubic hair, nor...anything else, for that matter.

“What would you like?” Envy asked, spreading their legs to rub somewhat lewdly at the white, featureless flesh between them. “I can be anything, you know.”

“Of course,” Kimblee murmured, and he reached out to touch them there, the smoothness of their skin sending electric signals through his body. “...what do you prefer?”

Envy raised an eyebrow at that- maybe they weren’t used to being asked.

“I don’t care,” they said, offering a minute little shrug. “I don’t think of myself as being either way.”

“Then give me both,” Kimblee said calmly, and Envy gasped, clearly delighted. The next wave of red lightning formed two charming new shapes. Their cock was well proportioned to their body- slightly smaller than Kimblee’s- already raised up against their belly. Instead of the expected testicles, at its base this cock transitioned seamlessly into a clean, well-formed vulva, a flower with few glistening petals. Both organs were mostly pale, only blushing faintly in some select spots with the same vague, dusky pink as their nipples. It was more than Kimblee would have imagined.

“Like this?” Envy asked, tilting their head to one side. Kimblee nodded, because his mouth had become too dry to speak, and from his prone position he caressed the soft skin where the masculine met the feminine, then sliding lower down, to rub against silky, wet folds. Envy giggled, and then gasped when he slipped two fingers inside, feeling their muscles tighten around him, the skin there so soft it almost didn’t feel real. He crooked his fingers, and smiled as Envy moaned, more wetness dripping down his knuckles as he rubbed the spot inside.

“Don’t neglect yourself,” they murmured, eyes hazy as they ran their nails through Kimblee’s pubic hair, fondling the base of his cock. The little house smelled strongly of death, and the desert air was hot without any wind, but the atmosphere was perfect for uniting with a creature like this. Their bodies were both bloody with the remains of those that had not survived. Kimblee didn’t mind this thought at all- it was simply proof that he was victorious, proof that he deserved every inch of what was being given to him. 

Envy took him by the wrist and drew his hand out, a string of slick connecting him to their insides for a moment before it broke. They straddled his hips, arms sinking deep into the blankets on either side of Kimblee’s torso, spikes of long green hair settling around his head. They kissed him, and he kissed back, before breaking into a noise of surprise and pleasure- in a single, tidy roll of their hips Envy had taken the head of his cock inside, and now they were steadily pushing it in to the hilt. When they were fully seated, they made a satisfied little noise in the back of their throat, sitting up to rock back, tightening around him. Kimblee had the sensation of being completely encased in their insides- like they had made their cunt with a depth designed to suit his cock perfectly. That was probably the truth. Was there anything there to spill into? Anything that would let his seed take root? Surely not, though the idea was wildly exciting to him.

“I like it this way,” Envy said to him, slightly breathless. “But I promise I’ll be careful. It would be no fun to break you.”

“Anything you want, darling,” he replied, and they moaned again as he touched their cock, lubricating it with the wetness of their own insides. They started to shift up and down, gentle little motions that he rolled his hips up to meet. With his free hand he clung to them, anchoring himself to the hard and unyielding flesh on their thigh. As the pace started to pick up they leaned over him again, meeting his eyes, moaning weakly into his lips.

“You’re good at this,” they mumbled, and they must have meant what he was doing to their cock, as they were managing everything else. He kissed them, swiping his thumb over the head, feeling them shiver and clench around him. Yes, like this he could feel their every pleasure very clearly. It was endearing, how honest their body was in bed, when they seemed such an attentive and mysterious liar everywhere else.

When they leaned back again- rolling their head to bare their throat- he followed them, sitting up so Envy became nestled in his lap. This position gave him more control, the ability to kiss and suck at their neck, work his way down until he could take one of their nipples into his mouth as he had been imagining earlier. None of their skin tasted much like anything, but he greatly enjoyed the noises they made, how they wrapped around his body, buried their fingers in his hair.

“Oh my, Crimson,” they gasped, sounding like they were losing themself. The thrusts of their hips were becoming more frantic, revealing a hidden strength, and there were suggestions all around that pointed to a weight inside them that was much greater than their figure. How they sunk into the mattress, for example. The pressure of their thighs against his. 

It hadn’t been terribly long, but Kimblee could already feel his body approaching the edge. But it had been a long time since he had done this, hadn’t it? And this experience exceeded every other, that was for certain. Envy had brought his mouth back into a kiss, and their fingernails (thankfully, no longer sharpened) dug into his shoulders and scalp. This combination of sensations- along with how fully and obviously Envy was enjoying themself- caused the wave deep in his groin to rise rapidly.

“Will you do something for me, dear?” he asked, and Envy hummed a question, nuzzling his jawline with some kind of desperation.

“Can you put the wings back on?” It was a silly thing to say, and he knew it. It wasn’t like he had a particular interest in wings, not on their own. But the sight back in the square, of Envy as a fallen angel, that had been something very attractive indeed.

They laughed into his skin, a breathless laugh that was crossed with a moan, and then the air was filled with that strong lightning smell, the dark corners of the room thrown into harsh relief under that corrupted red light. A thought occurred to him- _this very well could be alchemy._ A transmutation brought forth by a Philosopher’s Stone. But he didn’t think Envy was an ‘alchemist’, at least not in the usual sense.

The sight they made distracted him from his speculation. They had surprised him once again- the right wing that had blossomed from their shoulder blade was white, covered in downy dove’s feathers, and the left was midnight black, a baring of scarcely hidden bones and delicate membrane.

“You like _both,”_ Envy said into his ear before nipping it sharply, sending a white flame down his spine. The only reply he gave was to grip them even tighter, trying to convey through flesh where words failed the extent of his passionate feelings at that moment. They couldn’t extend the wings all the way inside the cramped walls of the little house, but they fluttered them anyway, and when he ran his hands down their back he could feel strong connective muscles flexing, pumping like their insides did around him.

Envy came first. The orgasm seemed to catch them off guard- Kimblee had been running his fingers through the soft feathers of the white wing with one hand, and gently stroking their cock with the other when they had suddenly clamped down, letting out a short and unusual shriek, like the call of a bobcat. For an instant, that sound seemed somehow bigger than they were, like it had been born from a larger set of lungs. If they even had lungs. He hadn’t been able to see any, when they had cut themself open for him.

For a moment, they pressed their hips down to trap him inside, sinking their teeth into his shoulder, inner walls spasming rapidly around him. Strangely, he didn’t feel any liquid on his skin even though their cock was also pulsing in his palm. A dual orgasm, how charming. The pressure was on the edge of painful, a feeling not unlike having one’s body trapped under a boulder, or a much larger animal. Kimblee wondered if this was what they had meant earlier, when they had promised not to ‘break’ him- certainly, it wouldn’t take much more than this to destroy a human body. How wonderful. He was standing on some precarious, deadly border between perfect safety and extreme violence, and he could only hope he would fall on the right side. It was like he was facing down a mighty bear or the forces of a natural disaster, and at any moment he could find himself in peril- this kind of excitement was thrilling, and it was the satisfaction he would have in the peaceful moments after that Kimblee lived for.

The pressure lifted and Envy leaned into him, having enough presence of mind now to keep their weight off of his pelvis but still shuddering with the aftershocks. Kimblee felt every one inside them. The wings had stretched out, bumping against the walls and ceiling during their orgasm, but now they were relaxed, curling into their shoulder blades. He could feel them breathing heavily against his chest. 

“There you are,” he murmured, and he kissed the shell of their ear. His shoulder stung, and he felt them lick it, a spot where they had bitten in very deeply- it felt like they may have even elongated their teeth, but he would check that later. They groaned deeply against his chest- another too-large noise- and he felt the rumbling purr start up once more against his skin. Their insides were a menagerie- the traits of so many animals slipped out.

“You’re not done yet,” they murmured, pulling back so he could see their face, and their lips were smeared with a cherry red colour- Kimblee’s own blood. Perhaps they felt how that thought made his cock jump, because they giggled at him, clenching those strong inner muscles once again.

“You can come inside,” they continued, something hot and dark burning in their eyes.

At their invitation, he started to move again, rising up against their unyielding stone body and descending again, the way the ocean tide met a rocky cliff. They didn’t seem to mind at all, having never let him slip from their body even once. His hands found themselves wrapping around Envy’s narrow, cute waist, which was so oddly slim in comparison to their hips and shoulders that his fingers nearly touched around their back. It didn’t take much of this. The way they kept twitching around him- still sensitive- was perfect, and the chill of their insides strangely addictive. Within a moment he was spilling too, his hips thrusting up in an instinctive animal urge to plant something inside them. Envy cried out again as he did it, like the sensation of being filled was pleasurable- or maybe it was painful, maybe the heat of him burned. Well, they had told him to do it, anyway.

When Kimblee came down again he was covered in a fine sheen of sweat that he could feel heavy on his skin. The little house now smelled of both sex and blood, which was such an obscene combination he almost laughed. He would never have been able to do something like this in times of peace. Even though he was now softening inside them, Envy still hadn’t let him pull out, trapping him under lithe limbs to peck his lips.

“Good job,” they purred. At this distance, he was practically drowning in the light behind their eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

At the end of the month, Kimblee was sent back to the army’s main camp, along with a handful of other soldiers that had been buried deep in enemy territory. Somehow, without his realizing, summer had already turned to fall- not that the difference was noticeable, in the desert wastes of Ishval. 

The base had become much better organized, though the white tents were still there, and the administrating women who scurried back and forth. He had become used to the vicious air in Ishval, but standing here he remembered how unpleasant it had been the first time. He knew the desert had weathered him- he had lost weight, any excess fat on his body siphoned off or replaced by muscle. His skin had darkened somewhat, though not nearly as much as some others. There was a bit more of a wildness to his eyes- though it wasn’t just the ‘desert’ that had put it there.

Since the day Envy had exposed their heart, they had barely left him alone. He had become able to faithfully predict their appearances- they always found him when he was alone. During these times they watched Kimblee work, and told him about whatever nasty thing they were up to without him- often intercepting Ishvalan escape routes, or dressing up as various military personnel to redirect the army’s actions. This, they always described as ‘helping’, though they wouldn’t explain exactly what they meant. If Kimblee ever asked, they would only smile at him, and then speak of something else. 

Interestingly, the way they talked, it didn’t seem to Kimblee like they cared whether or not Amestrian soldiers died- so it couldn’t truly be the military they were ‘helping’. They sowed chaos in both Amestrian and rebel ranks, ensuring that there would be more battles, and that those battles would be bloodier, maximizing the death toll. Kimblee didn’t know why. He had considered that perhaps there was no greater purpose to their actions- maybe, they were simply some evil spirit that enjoyed seeing people killed.

Or, something more realistic than a ‘spirit’. Ever since he had seen the stone inside their chest, Kimblee had been considering other possibilities, ones that lay within the realm of a comprehensible reality. Perhaps they were what was left of some mad, genius alchemist, who had managed both to make a Philosopher’s Stone and develop a method for transmuting the contents of one’s own body- a shapeshifting technique, and a healing one. But there was a problem with this idea- whenever Kimblee tested it, by speaking to them about advanced alchemical techniques, they didn’t seem to fully understand. What had happened to them? Had they truly lost their mind somewhere, and with it most of their alchemical knowledge, and every part of their identity save a name? And an unusual name, at that.

In short, Kimblee was not much closer to solving their mystery. Seeing the Philosopher’s Stone had only reassured him of one thing- with that, he knew Envy was _real,_ and that there was some scientific explanation for their actions somewhere. He just had to find it.

In the meantime, he was perfectly content to hold their hand and listen to them laugh, to tell them they were beautiful (which was not a lie) and have passionate sex in unusual places. He catalogued the strange things they said (unintentional clues, perhaps) just as he memorized the feeling of their skin, and the places they liked to be touched.

Kimblee reported to one of the tents as ordered, meeting an old man with a gray moustache and thinning hair of the same colour- a sergeant major, apparently, but he hardly seemed like a superior officer standing before Kimblee, who was over a head taller, and had battle caught in his eyes. The report was a simple effort of beaurocracy- Kimblee brought a list of his whereabouts and the corresponding dates, any injuries or damages. If only the military had been this organized from the get go- but then, Envy had been here when he had stepped off the train all those months ago. Perhaps the confusion had been their doing. That thought somehow coloured the memory more pleasantly.

“You have leave coming up this week,” the sergeant major said to Kimblee, flipping through his time keeping book. “I know you haven’t had any yet...it’s partly because you’re an alchemist, and also because you haven’t been seriously injured yet.”

Kimblee nodded. He hadn’t had reason to come back here since the beginning, unlike many.

“That’s fine,” he said, and he was beginning to say that he wouldn’t be taking any leave, when a thought occurred to him.

“...how long is it?”

“Five days,” the other man said, and he cringed for a moment like he was afraid Kimblee would be upset with him for the shortness of it. Kimblee considered this. By train, it took around thirteen hours to get from Ishval to Central- he had counted on the way down. That meant that three days could be spent there. He supposed it would do well to visit his mother in the sanatorium- but more importantly, with his silver watch he could make use of Central’s extensive alchemical library. Perhaps he would be able to find something there...something, anything. He would at least have to try. There were so many words and theories spinning around in his head, surely one would lead to something.

“I would like that,” Kimblee said politely, and the sergeant major hurried to mark it down- he wondered what this other man had heard of him. He seemed afraid, like Kimblee was a wild beast who would snap at the slightest provocation.

“That’s good, that’s good. Gotta get away from the heat, right?” he blabbered, tongue catching between his teeth. “The military train will arrive tomorrow morning at seven. It connects up in…”

“I know,” Kimblee said, interrupting him. “I remember. Thank you for your time.”

He left the man in the tent satisfied, and paused a moment to take stock of his surroundings. He had the rest of the day to spend before night, before the morning when the train would arrive. He supposed he could make himself useful somehow. If Envy had been a usual ‘girlfriend’ or ‘boyfriend’ he would have contacted them and told them where he was going, but he didn’t have any way of doing that. Envy could always find him, but he could not do the same.

With no other standing orders, Kimblee found himself wandering the camp. Despite his rank, he was flagged down once or twice to help transfer boxes of rations or ammunition to various trucks, which he did not mind. There was a steady desert wind blowing, and it made physical exertion under the heat bearable. Kimblee was glad for this- he wouldn’t have dared remove his jacket under such circumstances. The Philosopher’s Stone was too precious to expose to such uncouth eyes as those of the men he worked with.

“...has anyone seen the alchemist?”

Placing one box of morning rations onto the supply truck, Kimblee heard a woman’s voice say this. Dusting off his hands, he spotted its source- a young woman in a private’s uniform, with long brown hair and searching eyes. He did not recognize her- nor was there anything special about her, he could tell. He was a little disappointed that it had not been a bright-eyed blonde boy saying those words instead.

“That would be me,” Kimblee called to her, waving. She came over immediately, with the rushed walk of someone who was slightly nervous, but had a job to complete anyway.

“Major Roy Mustang, sir?” she asked him, and he blinked, surprised.

“No...I’m Major Kimblee. You said you were looking for an alchemist,” he said.

“Oh! I didn’t realize there were two in the camp right now. I have a message for Major Mustang. Very sorry, sir.” She saluted smartly and continued on, her head high to scan the camp and the faces of its many blue uniforms. Kimblee wondered if she had ever been in an actual battle down here- he doubted it. But he found himself curious, as well- if there was another alchemist here, Kimblee wanted to speak with him. There may be some insights to be shared. And he hadn’t had a chance to formally meet any of his fellow State Alchemists yet- he had only heard talk of them. The young woman hadn’t mentioned this Mustang’s title- what was his specialty?

When the truck was loaded Kimblee discharged himself from the packing duty gracefully, pretending he planned to go find a late lunch, and then walked in the general direction he had seen the private take. There were many people in the camp- some bustling about with purpose, others working on menial projects like Kimblee had, some loitering in groups, playing cards or talking boisterously. Typical sights. However, one person did catch his eye- a man sitting alone on a crate in shadow, looking down at something in his hands. His posture seemed exhausted- even defeated, maybe. As he was alone, he was different from the rest.

Kimblee approached him, and was pleased to see at a closer distance that the object he was holding was a State Alchemist’s silver watch, which he turned over and over in his hands. This was surely the person he was looking for.

“Excuse me,” Kimblee said, which seemed to surprise the man, who startled as he looked up. He had interesting features- a slightly round face, with narrow eyes just as black as his hair. Eyes like that certainly weren’t typical. There was something interesting inside them, too- underneath the obvious expression, which was an exhaustion that matched his posture. Deeper than that, almost hidden in the black, was a kind of aching darkness- but not a cold darkness, no, rather something that _burned._ Kimblee couldn’t say exactly what that was, but it was engaging.

“...are you the alchemist, Major Mustang?”

The man nodded, and Kimblee smiled at him.

“I see. I’ll confess, I wanted to speak with you,” Kimblee continued. “though we haven’t met. My name is Zolf J. Kimblee- I am the Crimson Alchemist.”

This sparked some recognition in those unusual black eyes.

“Yes, I’ve heard of you.”

Mustang had a pleasant voice. Kimblee wondered exactly what he had heard.

“May I sit?” Kimblee asked, gesturing to another crate, and Mustang nodded again. He didn’t seem wary, like some of the lesser soldiers were, especially those who had seen Kimblee’s work first hand. Of course, why would he be? But he didn’t seem especially eager to talk, either.

“I’m afraid I don’t know your title,” Kimblee said as he sat down, and Mustang looked at him for a moment, before smiling a tiny, bitter smile.

“The ‘Flame Alchemist’,” he said.

“Oh! There’s been much talk about you,” Kimblee told him. “Your abilities are very...efficient, from what I’ve been told.”

The smile faded, almost reversing into a frown.

“The same is said of you. Explosions,” Mustang replied, and Kimblee nodded his confirmation. Mustang leaned back, looking down again at his silver watch.

“We’re probably quite alike, you and I,” he said in a dull voice. “What we do best is...something perfect for this war.”

“Of course,” Kimblee returned, speaking lightly. “We’re very lucky in that way.”

There was silence for a moment, where Mustang looked at him with one eyebrow raised. The silver watch turned over and over in his hands. He wasn’t sure, after a moment, though, if Mustang was really looking at him at all- maybe he was looking at something behind his eyes, instead of the real world.

“How do you do it?” Kimblee asked when the silence went on too long. “If I may ask, that is. I’m afraid I’m professionally curious. Your alchemy, what does it entail?”

Mustang looked at him blankly for a moment, like he didn’t quite understand what had been said, and then came back to himself. He put his silver watch away, and from his trouser pockets pulled a pair of white gloves- Kimblee could see tiny red symbols sewn into the fabric, alchemical ones undoubtedly, but too small to see.

“These are made of a special fabric,” Mustang said in that dull voice, speaking like he had already tasted the words in his mouth a hundred times. “When rubbed together, it creates a spark. The circles are for channeling that spark- redirecting it, usually by heating up the air, or some other...flammable substance.”

 _Like a human body,_ Kimblee thought. That made sense to him. He didn’t ask to see the circle up close- that was a little much, he didn’t want to be rude. And his own techniques worked perfectly well for him.

“I have these,” he said, holding his palms up for Mustang to see. He hadn’t been asked, but it didn’t seem fair to take information without offering some. Equivalent exchange. “The two designs are opposites. Fire and water, earth and heaven, up and down. Channeling energy through inverted circles simultaneously leads to an energy discharge. Typically, I’d have to touch what I was discharging it through, but…”

With one hand, Mustang touched a spot on his chest under his uniform; so he was wearing one, too.

“You were given...an enhancer,” Mustang said, dryly. Kimblee smiled at him.

“Yes.”

There was silence for another moment, but this time it was Mustang who broke it. 

“Something as mythical as that, and we’re using it for this. You’d think if it could be made, then there would be no need for these kinds of wars.”

As he spoke, he pressed down on the spot on his chest. Did the stone pulse in time with his heart, like Kimblee’s sometimes did? Why did he hold himself like it was such a heavy burden- like there was a chain around his neck?

“Why not?” Kimblee asked. “Currently, this is what our nation is preoccupied with, so it stands to sense that such resources would be put to work here.”

Or something. Maybe the one who could make Philosopher’s Stones wanted a war. They certainly acted that way...though of course, Kimblee couldn’t be certain that Envy was acting alone. They had let slip, before, the suggestion of having some kind of ‘family’, whatever that meant to them. Mustang shook his head.

“If that’s how you feel, then perhaps we are not so much alike after all.”

Kimblee was surprised by this admission. Mustang was interesting, certainly.

“You might not want to say that,” Kimblee said. “Anything could be listening.”

If Mustang was surprised by Kimblee’s atypical phrasing, he didn’t show it- though his eyes did sharpen somewhat. Those eyes certainly looked like they had the capacity for incredible focus, a focus that just wasn’t turned on right now. 

“This may be sound strange,” Kimblee said when Mustang spoke nothing more. “But I have something important to ask you.”

Nothing still, but a strong look from those powerful black eyes.

“Have you seen anything...unusual, here in Ishval?” 

This was very important. Crucial, even. Where had the Flame Alchemist gotten his stone?

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Mustang said softly, but he could have been hiding anything in the shadows of his voice. 

“A dragon devouring its own tail,” Kimblee continued. “Have you seen that here?”

“You mean an ouroboros,” Mustang replied. “An old Xerxian symbol for infinity. But no, I...I haven’t seen anything like that.”

Kimblee let the silence sit for a moment more. It didn’t seem like Mustang was lying, but it was difficult to tell- his eyes were so dark it was impossible to see through them. But Kimblee also knew that a man like this would not be of interest to Envy. Mustang honestly seemed like the kind of person Envy would like to hurt, not to kiss. This was something of a relief. Kimblee didn’t want anyone else to solve their mystery before he could.

“I see,” Kimblee said at last. “Then just one more thing, between alchemists. Do you think it would be possible for a human to change shape using alchemy?”

Mustang looked at him, a surprisingly penetrating gaze, which Kimblee met and held. 

“It doesn’t sound impossible,” he said after a moment of this. “But I wouldn’t have any idea how to go about it. Bioalchemy was never my subject of interest.”

“Of course,” Kimblee said. “It was just an idea I had. No matter. It was nice meeting you, Major.”

He left Mustang looking slightly perplexed, but he didn’t care if he had been confusing, or rude with his abrupt departure. The other alchemist hadn’t had anything meaningful to share.


	16. Chapter 16

Kimblee didn’t see Mustang again before the train came the next morning. Deliberately, he hadn’t sought the other alchemist out. He wasn’t sure if he liked Mustang or not. He had the kind of substance that had the potential to be a threat, though Kimblee didn’t think there was any reason to be concerned with that yet. Certainly, though, he would be keeping an eye on the other man, just in case.

The train arrived exactly on time. That, at least, was one thing to be said for Amestris. The transportation was always efficient. Ishval had no trains- and to Kimblee’s understanding, the natives had typically traveled in caravans pulled by donkeys and camels, or on foot. If they had submitted at the start of the annexation, perhaps trains would have run there by now, bringing civilization in their trails of smoke- but it was too late for that.

The train was not especially full. A ragged handful of men boarded with Kimblee- none of them spoke amongst each other, and one was clearly a recent amputee, hobbling on crutches with a layer of tight bandages wrapped around the stump of one leg. He would be going home to recover, as he could not be a soldier now, at least not for a long time. If he could afford it, perhaps he would get himself an automail.

Since silence seemed preferred, Kimblee said nothing to any of his fellow passengers, finding a seat by himself at a window, where he could watch the scenery change. He let a song play softly in his mind, and after a while, he found his eyes begin to feel heavy- the steady motions of the train were like the rocking of a hammock, a tide that surged and slowed his heartbeat, beckoning him down to the blackness of a true sleep. How different the atmosphere on the train was, in comparison to his trip down. The war changed people, those that went in were not the same coming out.

It was strange- he couldn’t sleep well in Ishval, no matter what happened, yet passing mere miles into Amestris and already he was slipping away. The place must be cursed- or he was. This thought was, of course, a joke.

After thinking it, Kimblee fell asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

The air in Central had a very different feel to it. Kimblee had become so used to the dry, hungry wind of Ishval that he had forgotten what it was like to feel a fullness on his face. The air here was fat with moisture and movement, smelling of fallen leaves and factory ash and the coming of a wet winter. Kimblee realized that the holidays would be approaching soon. He hadn’t thought of such things in a long time.

It was very strange returning to his apartment. The smell of it was so familiar. The sound of his footsteps on the floor were a message from a previous life. It wasn’t that Kimblee had thought he would never return- rather, this mundane place had slipped entirely from his thoughts, to the extent that he hadn’t even dreamed of it. It wasn’t like he had thought of it as his home.

Still, there was something viscerally satisfying about showering in a real bathroom, by himself, on Central water which could burn hot for hours and would not lose its pressure. Kimblee washed himself in that shower until he couldn’t feel even the slightest bit of grit in his hair or skin. Until everything of the desert was washed away.

When he finally emerged, he found himself feeling hungry, another thing that had disappeared in Ishval. Indeed, he felt the pace of his thinking steady in this more comfortable air, hitting even beats instead of jumping from measure to measure. Perhaps he should have requested leave sooner- though he regretted nothing that had happened in Ishval.

Though it was late, Kimblee went out and bought a meal in a nearby pub, and brought it back to his apartment. There had been a few too many old men in that establishment, eyeing him from the corners of their eyes, no doubt knowing he was a soldier. They were too old to serve themselves, and would have surely pestered him had he stayed.

Eating alone at his kitchen table, Kimblee imagined to himself that Envy had come back with him. He could picture how their green hair would catch the electric light in his ceiling, what their bare feet would sound like on the tiled floor. In his mind they played with the stove in the corner of the room, twisting the dials to watch the fire rise and fall.

_What a sparse little place, Crimson. Surely a State Alchemist should have more!_

Would they say something like that? He could hear the words in their voice quite clearly. He knew they would surely go examine his bedroom- they would be satisfied to see the simple single bed, which had space for only one body. 

_It seems you weren’t lying. That’s good. I don’t like to share._

Though he had been very hungry, Kimblee couldn’t quite finish the meal, which was too large for a stomach that had become adjusted to much less. The remains he saved- not fond of unnecessary waste- and he brushed his teeth before getting ready for bed.

Though it was entertaining to imagine Envy in his apartment, it was a collision of two very different worlds. Envy didn’t seem like a domestic type in the slightest. They were a wild animal, and they wouldn’t stay with him in a place like this. When there was no war to fight- for surely, such a day would eventually come- where would they go? What would draw their interest? If he knew just what they were, maybe he could follow them. It was important that he use his time in Central to the best of his ability.

After he slept again, of course.


	18. Chapter 18

The next morning, after going out to find a light breakfast, Kimblee went to visit his mother in the sanatorium. It was enjoyable to wear something other than a uniform. The weather outside was chilled, heavy clouds sitting in the sky on the verge of rain, and so Kimblee wore a dark gray suit to match. The clothes felt soft against his clean skin.

His mother hadn’t changed much, or so the nurse in the sanatorium said. This nurse was an old woman who had a vaguely familiar face, but he couldn’t quite pin that face to a name, nor any specific event. She was like the smell of his apartment. Something he had taken in many times, but never attended to, as to do so was meaningless. Still, she directed him to the proper floor- for a price that he could easily surrender as a State Alchemist his mother had been given a private room, with special attendants. Someone to change the flowers in the vase on her bedside. Kimblee didn’t know if she noticed or cared for the special treatment, but that didn’t matter.

“Hello, mother,” he said to her when he entered the room. She was slouched back into her bed, her face tucked away inside her chin, and curls of thick gray hair. In her youth, her hair had been black, like his. But her eyes were not blue. That had perhaps come from his father, who he had never met. She said nothing to him. It was very likely she did not know he was there.

“It’s your son,” he tried again when he was seated in a spindly chair by her bed. “I’ve returned from the war.”

Still, she said nothing. Her eyes looked vacantly at the far wall, to the horizon beyond it. She had always been a small woman, but she looked especially small now, like something had collapsed inside. Her body was folded in on itself.

“It’s been going well,” he told her empty ears. “As a State Alchemist, I have special responsibilities there. The work is very fulfilling.”

This warranted no response.

“I don’t much like the weather, though. It’s very hot and dry during the day, and at night the winds are freezing.”

Kimblee looked around the room. It had been kept in good enough shape for his taste. The little chair for visitors was rather rickety, though. The fragile wood would shatter to nothing if Envy were to sit in it, he was sure. Now, that was a wild image- Envy visiting his mother? Impossible. They would sneer at even the idea.

“I have met someone, you know,” Kimblee continued, now that his thoughts had been steered in that direction he couldn’t help himself. “But I don’t think we’ll ever get married. Not that you ever wished for that, of course.”

“You’re not my son,” his mother said suddenly. The words were almost explosive, like they had been ejected in one desperate, heavy breath. Her eyes had met his face at last, and they seemed to tremble, wet in their sockets.

“You’re not my son,” she said again, more decisively. “My son is a little boy. He’s in school. Sweet little boy.”

“I’m afraid I’ve gone and grown up on you, mother,” Kimblee said, and she shook her head- tiny, jerking little motions, almost like she was afraid.

“Not my little boy,” she said, and her mouth waved silently around a few more invisible words, and then she went back to looking at the far wall. This time her gaze was even more vacant, her posture more slumped- like she had exhausted herself saying even those few words. A puppet with cut strings. Kimblee watched her a moment more, in the quiet. The air here was very still- to keep out the cold, one of the nurses must have closed her window. On the subject of which...

“How is everything, Mr. Kimblee?” These words were spoken by a nurse who closed the door as she entered the room- a nurse he was very certain he had never seen before. She wasn’t carrying anything with her- no tray of food or medicine- which was strange, but then, there were many strange things about this nurse. The sight of her was almost startling. She had skin as white as milk and long, silky black hair that surely violated some health code, hanging loose around her shoulders and waist. Her uniform was too small, it clung to her figure, leaving nothing to the imagination- her body was made of large, perfectly shaped breasts, a small waist, round hips and long legs with thick thighs and shapely calves. The skirt of the uniform settled somewhere high up on those thighs, clinging to them, and she clearly wasn’t wearing any stockings to compensate. Similarly, the buttons on her collar were undone, exposing some of the flesh of her breasts- she looked like she had just come from some clandestine meeting in a closet, and had yet to readjust her attire, though (and this was very interesting) the dark lipstick she wore was unsmudged and perfect.

“Fine,” Kimblee replied after a moment. “I’m sure my mother is being treated well.”

“Yes, we treat everyone here very well,” the nurse said. Her voice was silky, and her tone dripped with the suggestion of sex. Kimblee stared at her. He was fairly certain he had never seen anyone like this before. She had begun to walk towards him, and her hips swayed. Her walk was like the stalk of an ambush predator.

“And how do you like to be treated, Mr. Kimblee?” she said. Kimblee’s mouth was dry. Suddenly, he found unbidden images rising to the front of his mind- sexual images, but they weren’t of this woman. Envy’s white skin shone in the Ishvalan light, and they purred as they took him down their throat, kneeling in the carnage he had made. They bared their teeth above his face, cold skin filling him up inside, running sharpened fingernails across his chest. Goodness. These were memories, but unusually vivid- and once again he saw them, clearer than reality, his mind suddenly focusing on the hard muscles in their stomach as they breathed, on one little fang peeking out from underneath their upper lip...he could even _smell_ them, that dark graveyard scent of their skin, like they were standing right in front of him…

A hand touched his shoulder, and that brought the sanatorium room back, but it didn’t dispel the unusual (and almost unnaturally strong) feeling of arousal that had taken over Kimblee’s body. The hand belonged to the nurse, who was now leaning over him as he sat in the visitor’s chair, her heavy breasts near his face. Up close, he could see that she had very sensual features- beautiful, in a ‘sexy’ way. Full lips and high cheekbones, long black eyelashes to frame a set of elegantly shaped violet cat’s eyes.

Beneath her collarbone, and above the swell of her breasts, he saw a red symbol inked into her chest. The ouroborous, Xerxian infinity.

“That’s an interesting tattoo you have, ma’am,” Kimblee said, finding his voice. “I didn’t know that nurses could have tattoos.”

“Consider me special,” she said, and light fingers traveled up from his shoulder, caressing his jaw. Warm fingers- that wasn’t right. She licked her lips with a pink tongue, her lipstick not smearing even slightly.

“Tell me what you want right now, Mr. Kimblee.”

That’s not what Envy would have said. They called him ‘Crimson’. He found the contrast unpleasant- somehow, the warmth of her touch actually cooled his arousal, and the sight of her exaggeratedly curvaceous body put something sour in his stomach. This seemed a very commonplace kind of lie.

“Nothing like what you’re suggesting,” Kimblee said calmly, now having control over his mind and movements. He gently pushed her hand away and stood, putting space between their bodies. She looked surprised. Throughout this entire exchange, his mother had said nothing- and likely seen nothing, either.

“You don’t have to be a gentleman with me,” said the ‘nurse’, and she pulled down the top of the uniform completely, baring one flawlessly white, swollen breast. The nipple was a rosy pink, and had erected in the exposed air. “I can handle your deepest desires.”

His deepest desires? Kimblee smiled to himself. 

“You will do anything I want?” he asked lightly, and she smiled a rather harsh looking smile. Her teeth were sharp, but not as sharp as Envy’s. Strangely, something in her expression seemed to fall slightly at his question.

“Yes,” she moaned, taking a step towards him, and to preserve the distance he took a step back.

“Very well,” Kimblee continued. “In that case, I would like to ask you a few questions.”

She stopped as he said that, and the smile fell. She seemed completely shocked by this, but the shock soon faded, replaced by a sultry satisfaction. To his relief, she pulled her uniform back up over her chest, and sat down on the edge of his mother’s bed, gesturing with one hand for him to proceed.

“What is your name?” Kimblee asked when she said nothing more, watching as a little smirk was reborn onto her plump lips.

“Lust.”

Her name sounded like it was coated in honey.

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Lust,” Kimblee said, and as he had already removed his hat to sit with his mother he bowed slightly in her direction. The smile on her face grew wider- it seemed much more genuine than before. Kimblee took a steadying breath. This was a chance he hadn’t expected. This next question was burning inside of him- on the subject of deepest desires, haha.

“Exactly...what are you, Miss Lust?” he asked her, and she chuckled softly before replying.

“I am the Ultimate Spear.”

Kimblee wet his lips. That was another mystery. Hadn’t Envy said something about that? He couldn’t quite remember the context, but the words sounded familiar.

“What does that mean?” he continued, trying to keep his voice light, so the directness of his questions was not rude. Lust didn’t say anything to that. Instead, she simply raised one hand- as he watched, the tips of her fingers blackened and elongated, stretching up towards the ceiling. The ends and edges of these once-fingers looked wickedly sharp- so sharp they almost seemed to cut the air as they extended. Kimblee realized he was in a rather precarious position- it would be easy to kill a man with something like that. Thankfully, he still had the Philosopher’s Stone, which he would never leave behind. As Lust retracted her blades, his heart beat faster.

“What is the ouroborous to you?” 

“It marks me as a child of my father,” she said in her silky voice. “All of my siblings wear it, too. There are seven of us, in total.”

Lust was much more direct than Envy. Already, this conversation was clearing cobwebs on half-mentioned things that had fallen from their white lips, the truths of which he had been unable to pry from them. He didn’t know if that meant Envy was more secretive, or just crazy- sometimes, they seemed to say things unintentionally, and then forget what they had been talking about moments later. Oh, well.

“Are you and your siblings...natural creatures?” This question was difficult to phrase. “Do your existences coincide with scientific law?” Still, that wasn’t quite what he meant to say. _Please tell me you are not magical creatures, or constructs of my own lunatic brain._

“Yes, of course,” Lust said, and there was feather-light laughter held in her words. “Is that all you have to ask?”

“No, I’m sorry. Just a few more things,” Kimblee said. “Are you ‘human’?”

This, of course, was important. It was perfectly possible that these wonderful beings were naught but alchemists, just like him, only at a level far beyond his comprehension. He wasn’t sure if he wanted this to be the case or not. Lust seemed to consider him, angling her fine head to one side.

“No, I wouldn’t say that,” she replied at length, and her words sent an incredible thrill through him. “You see, humans are ‘born’, and we were ‘made’. Rather, we are like the _homunculus_ spoken of in alchemical texts.”

“Homunculus,” Kimblee said softly, trying out the word for size. An artificial human- another alchemical legend, reportedly impossible to create, just like the mythic Philosopher’s Stone. So these long forgotten arts and techniques were being put to use today- but by who?

“If you are a ‘homunculus’,” Kimblee continued, “then an alchemist created you. Who was that?”

Lust smiled, but it was a secretive smile. Just like every other motion and facial expression she made, it was seductive, dark- perfectly composed and sexy.

“I said I had a father. Beyond that it is a secret.”

“I see.”

Kimblee let himself breathe a moment, watched by Lust’s deep violet eyes. This was more than he could have hoped for, of course. It seemed impossible that such a gift could have fallen right into his lap. It was impossible, in fact.

“Why did you come to...speak with me?” was the next question Kimblee asked, when he was sure he had catalogued and contained the crucial information she had given to him properly. Lust pursed her lips slightly at this.

“I was testing you,” she said. “I wanted to make sure you were...worth it.”

“How so?”

Lust smiled again, and it was a different smile once more, a new one. A somewhat rueful smile.

“Unfortunately, a little sibling of mine has fallen desperately in love with you.”

Those words kickstarted Kimblee’s heart again. He hadn’t been expecting it in such terms. Envy had never said they ‘loved’ him- in fact, there was evidence enough to think that they saw him only as an enjoyable plaything. That the depth of their feelings for him was so intense…

(Kimblee wasn’t going to admit that this news filled him with light. He wasn’t used to these kinds of warm rushes in his chest; it would be best not to think deeply on that for now.)

“And with a creature like _that,”_ Lust continued, smirking like she could see every colour that passed through his heart with her bare eyes, “you have to be unwaveringly loyal. Though, I imagine you already know.”

 _Envy_ , Kimblee thought. The resentment caused by desiring that which belongs to others. A concept closely tied with _jealousy-_ the bitterness born from fear of losing what belongs to you. Yes, he had seen this already. To think- such miserable, shrewish emotions had manifested themselves so gorgeously.

“And have I passed your test?” Kimblee asked when he had suppressed his heart rate enough to speak again.

“I’d say so,” Lust replied. “I’m glad. You know, they may not act like it, but they have a terribly fragile heart. You have to be careful with them.”

Kimblee nodded, accepting the slight warning in her words and finding it as endearing as it was sobering. But it wasn’t like he planned on letting Envy go. That option had long faded from both possibility and desirability.

“So, do I have your blessing?” Kimblee asked after a moment, and part of him wondered if this was the most important question he had asked that day. Lust laughed slightly, perhaps at his earnestness, but her answer surprised him.

“There is one more ‘test’ you must pass,” she told him. “And this, I fear, may well be insurmountable.”

“Tell me,” Kimblee said. “I will do it. I want-”

He didn’t say what he wanted. He wasn’t sure what he wanted. For Envy to be with him forever? That seemed like fairytale drivel, sheer impossibility. He couldn’t see Envy in something like a ‘wedding dress’. He didn’t even want something like that, anyway. Or did he? He had become a terrible fool.

“What does Envy look like?” Lust asked slowly, pronouncing each syllable clearly, like she was saying something complex and wanted to be certain that she was perfectly understood.

“They have green hair and white skin,” Kimblee replied, matching her tone. In his mind he summoned forth a perfect image, and traced lightly across it, following lines he had memorized perfectly. “They’re shorter than I am- shorter than you, too. They have the tattoo on their thigh, and they wear clothing that exposes their stomach, and-”

“That’s enough,” Lust said over him, and the surprising coldness in her voice cut him off. “I can already say that you are completely wrong.”

“What?” Kimblee didn’t understand this- it was impossible.

“That’s not what Envy looks like at all.”

There was silence in the room, interrupted only by the somewhat laboured breathing of Kimblee’s mother, in her bed. Lust wasn’t smiling at all anymore. Her expression was almost pitying. Kimblee’s next question was so obvious he didn’t even need ask it and she answered.

“I cannot show you the truth,” she said. “Only they can. And let me tell you this, Mr. Kimblee- if you can see that, and still love them, you are a remarkable man indeed.”

She stood then, adjusting the tight skirt so it covered a few more measly inches of her skin, and tucking one strand of luscious black hair behind her ear.

“No more questions. I have to be going, now. Enjoy the rest of your leave, _alchemist.”_

With those words and a swish of dark hair she left him, alone with his mother and the noon sun that came in her window, standing in a pile of questions left unasked. Every door he had opened had simply led to another, which was still locked. 

Kimblee didn’t move for a while. He stood in the room and thought, reinforcing what Lust had told him, examining her words closely for cracks or deformities in shape. She had been very honest, he thought. And he was very lucky to have spoken with her. Now, after lunch, he would go to Central’s research library, and there he would be able to search for specific, concrete ideas.

Homunculus.

Two things he had learned stood out to him, glowing like fireflies in his head, but their meanings seemed to negate each other. First, Envy was in love with him. That was quite a remarkable thing to hear spoken out loud. The second, was that Envy had lied to him- when he had asked, all those months ago, what they really looked like, they had lied. 

But it didn’t seem like a lie- everything about that body suited them perfectly, represented their personality precisely. It wasn’t like they had shown him some idealized, flawless beauty, something like their sister save with blonde hair and red cheeks. And that smile he found so wonderful...that he, like them, had fallen for...how could that be fake?

Kimblee had work to do, before he went back to Ishval. Even now, he was no closer to solving his mystery.


	19. Chapter 19

In the library Kimblee was let in with no questions, upon the sight of his silver watch. He was even offered a private room to study in, which he graciously accepted. He didn’t doubt that he would be inside for a while.

The first thing he did was go to the section devoted to bioalchemy, collecting any book that seemed to discuss the creation of artificial life forms. Typically, most of these dealt with chimeras, but he was able to find a few texts handling the mythical ‘homunculus’, even if just as a single article within. In the stacks dedicated to archaic works, he found much more. Having been reprinted into neat, military-standard shapes and fonts, the titles of many of these books amused him- _Alchemie Moste Strange,_ he took with him, as well as _The Secrets of the Darker Artes._ He doubted there was anything especially ‘dark’ contained within- even for a State Alchemist, information on forbidden rituals such as human transmutation were highly restricted. Still, it was worth a look.

Kimblee found it rather pleasant to be consumed in studies again. He realized that he hadn’t read anything longer than a memo since arriving in Ishval, and the flow of words washed over the rough surface of his thoughts, soothing it and reorganizing its contents. The library was very quiet, with thankfully few inhabitants, and the atmosphere was heavy but clean, in the way of all well-maintained academia. Just as he had thought, even a simple break like this was doing wonders for the clarity of his thinking.

Unfortunately- though he had rather expected this- there was little bounty to be had from his efforts. He had begun with broad strokes, examining everything, but the more he came to learn about chimeric transmutations the more he was certain that was the wrong place to look. Chimeras were simply amalgamations of already living beings- the work was an act of weaving, tying two naturally established forms into one, not creating something from scratch. Certainly, no ‘human-like’ chimera had ever been made, nor even really conceived of. And even if Envy acted like a wild animal sometimes, he didn’t think they were one. That was not the path to artificial humanity.

Modern texts had little to say on the subject of the ‘homunculus’, or fully artificial life at all. Most scholars seemed to think of the idea as a useless impossibility- unlike the sage alchemists of old, modern practitioners were utilitarian. What good was it, these texts asked, to alchemically forge a fake person, when it took only a little luck and nine months to make a real one? One article Kimblee read even prudishly denounced the idea, claiming that such theories strayed too close to human transmutation, and therefore should be avoided and disregarded by ‘proper’ alchemists of ‘good moral standard’. Kimblee doubted he fell into such a category. His explosion technique was already wildly unconventional- after all, he didn’t ‘make’ any physical thing with it, it was only a discharge of energy.

Kimblee had hoped to find something in more modern texts, but as the hours wore on, that seemed less and less likely. Combing the black lines of letters yielded little insight- though he did manage to learn more than he could ever practically apply on chimeras. Contemporary bioalchemy was largely underdeveloped, he decided. The only item of interest he had found was a series of studies on medical alchemy by someone named Tim Marcoh- nothing to do with how to create bodies, of course, only how to fix them. Perhaps it was something like this that Envy applied when they healed themself- with the need for any excess materials or energy naturally waived by the stone. And of course, Kimblee had never seen Envy use a transmutation circle.

When he found his body beginning to tire slightly, Kimblee left the library to eat, having found to his surprise that the sun was preparing for sleep in the sky above. No matter. The library would stay open at all hours, if a State Alchemist was visiting.

When Kimblee returned, he began looking into the archaic texts. These were much more forward with the idea of the homunculus, though it was difficult at times to parse through the unusual phrasing and spelling. Often, the authors were also annoyingly secretive- wishing for their readers to come speak to them in person, no doubt, and apprentice themselves in exchange for the deeper truths. But Kimblee had largely taught himself alchemy, and all of these would-be masters had long died, taking their miserly hoardings of information with them.

One thing, however, was consistent throughout these texts- their writers made sure to explain how it was impossible in alchemy to create a ‘soul’. Souls were the territory of God, and trespassing there was beyond human means.

Therefore, the distinction between a true human and a homunculus was this- the latter could not have a soul.

This was not very helpful to Kimblee. For one, he could not find anywhere a clean definition of what constituted a ‘soul’, or what effects soullessness would have on a living being. The books spoke of the idea in tones of muted horror, suggestions of unholiness. Was a soul a human’s consciousness, in which case a soulless creature would be little more than an empty shell? Or was it more like ‘personality’, meaning that those without resembled the mental patients with conditions so severe they were treated with lobotomy? Or, most outlandishly, was a ‘soul’ a sense of moral compass, a holy ‘goodness’ instilled at birth- if that were so, then something without a soul would be a creation of pure evil.

He found illustrations in one book. In rerendered scratches of ink, the artist had depicted twisted, amorphous things floating in glass jars. Tiny, fetus-like monsters with blotchy faces and mouths open in wanton screams or demonic grins. Pitiful monsters riddled with deformities- some having exposed spines, or single eyes in the middle of their heads, or not enough limbs. These things could be forced into life, the text said, but little more than that. It was hard to associate these grotesque and hopeless images with what he knew. But then, human babies were a little unsightly as well. Perhaps those ancient alchemists who had made these things simply hadn’t waited for them to grow up.

As the time neared midnight, Kimblee finally found what he was looking for- a description of the composition of a homunculus. There was a whole chapter dedicated to the subject in _The Secrets of the Darker Artes,_ which he had been leaving deliberately to the side for its ridiculous title. The book explained a number of important things:

First, that by definition a homunculus need not possess any human traits beneath the exterior. It was not an ‘artificial human’ so much as a ‘living doll’, and the goal of the ancients in such experiments was not to personally create humanity, so much as to form something humanity could interact with.

Second, that a homunculus could be made from virtually any materials, save one- human flesh. To carve it from that would be to commit human transmutation, and that was not the goal of this practice. But the varied options provided surprised Kimblee somewhat- elephant’s bones, river mud, various poisonous plants- even _shadows_ were marked as a possible starting material for a homunculus.

Third, was that apart from the materials for form, in order to continuously function- to operate with life-like behaviours and tendencies- a homunculus needed access to some kind of steady, internal source of energy. Without that, it would be but a body, with no electrical impulses to power its pseudo-brain and muscles.

The book didn’t give any options for an energy source, but Kimblee didn’t mind. He already had the answer to that.

And finally, of course, he was chastised once again- homunculi had no souls.

Kimblee then looked over the information on base materials more closely- the author of this text seemed to favour a certain rare plant called the _mandrake mandragora._ Apparently, its supple flesh and rounded, tubular insides were ideal for channeling energy, and easy to manipulate with alchemy. When Kimblee turned the page to see a diagram of the plant, he let out a surprised breath- now, that was quite familiar. Mandrakes were low-growing plants with thick, bulbous roots, and it was the roots that were being praised for their alchemical potential, but the leaves that sprouted above ground were thin, spidery green ferns- _exactly like Envy’s hair._

Sitting there, Kimblee actually shivered, and like a lovestruck idiot he traced the lines of the drawing with one finger, the way another man might the portrait of his lover. And there was more evidence than just this- their insides wound about like the veiny roots of this plant, as displayed in a cross-section. He found his heart beating very fast.

It was silly, and he had been hoping to avoid this, but once more Kimblee felt a warmth inside him when he looked at the drawing of the plant. There was something endearing about this. To think, someone had plucked his little Envy from the ground. He wondered if they remembered what it was like, being a simple thing nourished by the earth- had they been in pain, undergoing transmutations to give them limbs and red blood, to implant a burning scarlet heart?

Was this what Lust had meant, speaking of Envy’s hidden, true self? 

No, Kimblee decided after a moment, it couldn’t be this. A stubby little plant was hardly the kind of horror that would shake the heart of a man. No, he didn’t believe he could learn that secret from a book- it was something that Envy had to show him.

Still, he was happy with his findings. It was a relief to have some understanding- even if only a rough one- of what Envy was, and how they had come into existence. Kimblee wasn’t crazy, and ‘magic’ wasn’t real. They were entirely physical and had been born through genuine, alchemical means. They weren’t a spirit who would vanish into mist when the dream was over, or some holy construct serving an incomprehensible destiny for an omnipotent god. Everything he had seen and felt was _real._

This knowledge was enough to satisfy him for now. He left the library, releasing its exhausted staff to their homes, simply requesting that the private room be held for him in the morning.

Back in his apartment, Kimblee slept quite well for the rest of the night.


	20. Chapter 20

The next day Kimblee went straight to the library after breakfast, without making any stops. If the library staff were exasperated to see him again, nothing in their demeanour suggested it. And that was as it should be, Kimblee thought- he was a State Alchemist, and one in the middle of a war, at that.

This time, however, he changed the focus of his studies. He didn’t have much time, and to him an overview of all the subjects that interested him was better than a detailed analysis of one. If he could quiet the most pressing questions in his head- the ones that howled like rabid dogs in his desperation- then he would be able to proceed more cleanly and rationally with his work in the war. So he replaced all of the texts he had held on bioalchemy- save _The Secrets of the Darker Artes-_ and went to the classics section of the library instead.

Kimblee had never studied Xerxian history or philosophy on his own. The grammar school he had attended as a child had barely touched on it, bringing up only the names of a few particularly famous emperors and philosophic playwrights. And his own work as an adult had generally been much more scientifically focused. As such, he hadn’t recognized the ouroborous tattoo as a Xerxian symbol at first (the way Mustang had). But he was curious. Alchemy had been very well developed in Xerxes, from what he understood. What did their mythology say of artificial life, and dragons that devoured their own tails?

It was difficult to decide which books to take with him to the study room. The subjects were quite varied- Xerxes clearly had possessed a rich and complex spiritual understanding of the world, organizing their scientific and religious concepts under a banner of myth and elaborate symbolism. This did not make his task easy. Ultimately, he settled on beginning with a book that translated pictographs, and a handful of religious texts, mythological collections and plays that mentioned either ‘infinity’ or ‘immortality’ in their descriptions. On his way out, however, one more title caught his eye- _The Apostle’s Treatise on Virtue and Sin._

Something about this stirred a memory in him, but it was not a memory he could place, nor even fully visualize. Rather, his mind simply seemed to catch on the words, like a thread wrapped around a loose nail. He brought this book with him as well.

As on the first day, his initial ventures were somewhat challenging. Just like alchemists of the medieval kingdoms who had written after the fall of Xerxes but before the dawn of electric lights, Xerxian philosophers wrote in winding words, filling their pages with allegory and flowery prose, never truly looking upon their subjects directly. Complicated symbolism replaced straightforward words- unless, of course, there really had been great jungle cats with the heads of women in antiquity, or golden ships that rode the clouds instead of water. Some ideas were recurrent- many authors mentioned with a muted mixture of fear and reverence some kind of metaphysical Door, a great black Gate behind which there existed a world of chaos and power beyond imagining. Many described the moon and sun as great Eyes, and eyes were the same as Doors, here.

Kimblee’s head was spinning strangely in very little time at all. The words on the pages were clearly fantastical, yet something in them seemed to suggest at deeper truths, like the sentences wore clever little half-smiles of secrecy. 

He found the story Envy had mentioned, about the cursed light that went from house to house, killing and taking the souls of those who lay within- provided the door was unstained with animal sacrifice. Here was the idea of ‘souls’ again. Such a fate, to the writer, seemed tainted, a death that was worse than death. 

Many times, he stumbled into references of a necrotic Underworld- or maybe, depending on the translation, Underground- that existed beneath Terra’s surface, a spidering collection of veinlike catacombs that held, sleeping, unthinkably ancient things. A lion that could devour the sun was one, as well as other ancient and decadent gods.

At one point, flipping through the book of pictographs, he found something that surprised him. A common Xerxian metaphor for outbursts of great emotion, or indeed simply _physical explosions,_ was a red lotus- and these, in the Xerxian language, had simply been called ‘crimsons’. Kimblee chuckled to himself. He hadn’t realized he had been named after a flower.

The ouroborous appeared in many places- sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively, in descriptions of unending circles and passages formed by mirrors set to face each other. In the myths, the world was reportedly enclosed in the scaled embrace of a tremendous sky-serpent, that slithered after its own tail and in these motions formed the changes of day to night.

The book of translated pictographs described it as a symbol of crucial importance to the Xerxian alchemists- a symbol of eternity, and immortality as represented through the infinite cycles of birth and death. 

Interestingly, the meaning of the symbol seemed to change subtly in Xerxes’ dying years- in the court of the last emperor, it had been stitched front and center on his banners, but not as a representation of the cosmic endlessness of the circling universe. There, it had been used to represent individual perfection- ‘infinite perfection attained through alchemical transmutation in search of spiritual transcendence.’ Kimblee wondered at the change.

Of the Philosopher's Stone, he also found a surprising amount of references, though they were just ‘references’ and little more than that. The stone was referred to under many names, but he had already known that. It was often called the Great Work, but on the nature of its completion Kimblee could find nothing but myth and conjecture. That the first man had learned the secret of its making from God (or, depending on the translation, ‘Truth’- interesting, that these concepts were conflated) told him little. From what he could see, the original goal of this Great Work had been to create an elixir of immortality, not simply an alchemical enhancer. This was interesting- could his little stone, which hummed so pleasantly against his skin, be used for such purposes? What would happen, if he were to swallow it whole?

Kimblee took a break from his studies around noon, but this time he didn’t leave to eat, he simply paced the room, allowing his mind to fully absorb everything he had seen, and find a place to store it where it would not swell and pulse so violently at the forefront of his working brain. To help this process, he played a simple military march, a straightforward song that did not suggest at any ancient wonder or power beyond cosmic understanding. 

It wasn’t that he was overwhelmed. He didn’t quite believe in everything that he had read- nor, of course, did he _disbelieve_ in it either. Rather, it was simply difficult for his meticulously organized and cleanly maintained mind to think in the same terms and scope as did these ancient philosophers. They spoke as though the ground was always unsteady under their feet, the physical world before their eyes not but a veil easily torn away, and Kimblee did not feel the same way- or at least, he didn’t anymore.

After a break where he allowed himself to avoid thinking deeply, Kimblee picked up _The Apostle’s Treatise._ He wasn’t sure why this book had called to him- triggering something long-buried in his memory- and that made him curious.

The text seemed to have been written during the center of Xerxes’ great reign, and was extremely religious. Indeed, this piece had little to do with alchemy at all- instead it was mainly a methodological moral code, written in the same wandering tones of the myths, seeming to promise at ancient and untold mysteries. 

Kimblee had seen that the number ‘seven’ seemed to appear often in the Xerxian consciousness, and here it did so again. According to the author of the treatise- or rather, the ‘Apostle’ from whom he had recorded this information- the goodness of humanity was governed by a set of distinct, measurable virtues. These were the most desirable traits any person could possess, and lead to the most desirable behaviours. As such, all should seek to achieve a state mastered by these virtues.

The seven virtues were listed as such:

_Castitas, Temperantia, Caritas, Industria, Patientia, Humanitas_ and _Humilitas._

In a clearer Amestrian tongue, these meant:

_Chastity, Temperance, Charity, Diligence, Patience, Kindness,_ and _Humility._

Kimblee chuckled a little, reading this to himself. Of course, in an empire-state so powerful and decadent as Xerxes, should things like selflessness and innocence be praised as high virtues.

The author of the text came off as rather forcefully preachy, in his insistence on the maintenance of these virtues. To Kimblee, it seemed like the kind of thing designed to frighten young women of marrying age into repressing their biology, and to guilt the wealthy into donating pocket charity to the poor. But then, perhaps he was projecting his own perception of later religions into this- and there was still more to be said.

The book continued by explaining that these virtues stood, crucially, in opposition to a darker mirror-self. Practice of virtue was the greatest defence against the temptation of vice. Now, Kimblee found this more interesting. In contrast to the seven virtues, there were also seven sins. To be possessed by such feelings- or worse, to act on them- was to tarnish the soul, at times irreversibly. These acts left the goodness of humanity in tatters, as they represented the absolute worst traits humanity could exemplify. These were the purest evils of man, and to commit them was not only to harm others, but also to destroy oneself.

This, Kimblee thought, was very dramatic. Once again the idea of the soul kept cropping up- he wondered what the difference was, between a ‘soulless’ being and one who had completely corrupted their soul. Was even a black, putrid thing worth more than an empty space? Well, that didn’t really matter.

The seven sins were listed as such:

_Superbia, Luxuria, Avaritia, Invidia, Acedia, Gula_ and _Ira._

Once more a translation was provided:

_Pride, Lust, Greed, Envy, Sloth, Gluttony,_ and _Wrath._

When Kimblee read those words, he had to take a deep breath, and look briefly away from the page. So, that was that, then.

_Invidia._

He said this word aloud a few times, and found its flavour on his tongue pleasant. He was glad, now, that he had spotted this book, it had provided him with something very important.

Lust- or Luxuria, he supposed- had said that there were ‘seven of us’, by meaning of seven siblings. Seven homunculi created by the mystery alchemist- the ‘father’. Whoever he was, he clearly engaged deeply with ancient Xerxian philosophy. Suddenly, looking at the words on the page, another memory drifted up to the surface of his mind- Envy in the bright Ishvalan sunlight, stepping off the side of a tall building, a careless suicide move with a bright smile. They had said, then, something about having brothers- and their exact descriptions had been interesting, calling these brothers ‘arrogant’ and ‘avaricious’. These, then, were likely ‘Pride’ and ‘Greed’, were they not? Kimblee laughed out loud. He understood now, the pieces were falling into place, some doors were being left open.

Whoever the alchemist was, he was quite remarkable. No doubt the kind of person who thought like these writers, who put symbol to the infinite mysteries of the universe- who had power enough to understand a good many of them. Who knew- perhaps he truly was an alchemist of Xerxes, a man born in those shining, golden years, when sphinxes and angels had roamed the earth, and this curious black Gate had stood slightly ajar. If, that was, the Philosopher’s Stone could truly be used to create immortality, then such an idea was well within the realm of possibility.

Kimblee read a little more in the Treatise after this, looking into the specifics of each ‘deadly sin’, to see if he could pry a little more information from the pages. Pride was reportedly the first and most terrible of these-

(The oldest brother?)

-the one from which all others spread, like the roots of a malignant tree. This sin apparently weighed the heaviest on the human heart- was the most damaging to the soul- though a close second was his beloved Envy. And they were very heavy, weren’t they? Kimblee chuckled to himself. He read every word in that passage with special care, treating it like a unique and novel specimen of flower, lovely and worthy of close examination. There were a handful of trite stories demonstrating the destructive power of Envy on the human heart- often as the ruin of otherwise happy familial bonds and marriages. Kimblee found these amusing, but he was more interested in the symbolism- as in Amestris, Xerxes had associated ‘envy’ with the colour green. According to this text, the fit punishment for the envious was to have their eyelids sewn shut, so they could not covet that which belonged to others anymore...

Kimblee wondered, at one point, why the great alchemist had chosen to mold his creations after these conceptual sins, as opposed to the virtues. If he subscribed to the teachings of ancient Xerxes, wouldn’t he desire more positive, ‘holy’ traits in what he made? Or perhaps this had to do with the aspect of soullessness once more- perhaps to him, his creations were demonstrations of some philosophic evil. But then, Kimblee didn’t really know. He could only speculate, and he knew better than to settle too firmly into any particular possibility. 

Still, when the sun began to drift towards the horizon once more, Kimblee found he felt satisfied. Of course, he didn’t know everything, and there were still plenty of questions to be answered- but he didn’t feel so strongly that burning _need_ to know. The world had settled in his insides- now that he understood, even if on the most superficial level, the nature of his experiences, he could be fully content with them. Any other curiosities he had were simply that- curiosities, and they could wait for more fortuitous moments. 

That is, save just one more thing.

Kimblee had to know what Envy really looked like.

This was far more than a curiosity, of course, but it was also more than the fiery need for the truth that had consumed him, lying awake under the Ishvalan stars for so many nights. This was a ‘trial’. Like the heroes in Xerxian myths, who were sent down into labyrinths to slay a beast, or on long sea voyages to bring back magical artefacts, all to please the princess they sought to marry. In this case, perhaps, the chimeric horror that would be found in the pits of that labyrinth and the princess were one and the same, and that was fine by Kimblee. He just needed to see.

With this, the mystery would finally be unraveled in full. If he could just see that, he would be able to relieve his heart of that urgent sense of confusion and curiosity, and set it to simply loving them instead.

Ah- well, he should admit it to himself, at this point. He was in love with them.

And he couldn’t imagine any sight that would take that love from him. Perhaps that was the point, perhaps what he sought to see was so horrible it was beyond human imagination- but the idea of something like that was more exciting than it was frightening.

No matter. Kimblee sat still for a few moments, allowing himself to breathe, controlling the flow of air in his lungs.

This was enough for now.

Kimblee left the library staff pleasantly surprised that he hadn’t held them for the entire night, and returned to his apartment. The next day he didn’t go back to the library at all- instead he lounged around Central, breathing in its more comfortable air, visiting flower gardens and coffee shops and doing other small, luxurious things that could not be done in Ishval. That evening, he attended a performance put on by the music university, which was not bad. The entire time, he let what he had learned turn over in the back of his mind, settling it into some of the better-kept, well-lit rooms where, like all things of great importance, they would sit crisp and clean and ready for the taking at a moment’s notice.

The next day in the morning, the train back to Ishval would arrive, and he was ready to take it.


	21. Chapter 21

The second time Kimblee stepped off the train into Ishval, he was almost happy to feel the dry air on his face, and the confining weight of his ungainly uniform around his body. He felt very refreshed from his few days in Central; there was a renewed vigour in his motions, and his mind was clear. The other soldiers at the base seemed to pick up on this, and resultingly shied away from him as he approached- ah, yes, he was sure his reputation was rather terrible by now, but for this he didn’t care much.

When he signed back in with the timekeeper, he was told to report to one of the general’s tents- apparently, there were some things that needed to be asked of him. Kimblee was a little surprised at this, but he did as he was told. For a moment, he considered the possibility that the State Alchemists were going to be gifted another wonder, but quelled any rising feelings in his chest at the thought.

“Major Kimblee, reporting as requested,” he said to the guard stationed outside the general’s tent- he was a stiff, somewhat scared looking man, but for some reason Kimblee didn’t think he was the source of this demeanour. The other man nodded, and disappeared inside the tent, reappearing after only a few seconds.

“The General will see you now, sir,” he said, and Kimblee gave him a polite smile before entering the tent.

Inside, there was no one save the general and himself- and to Kimblee’s surprise, this general was not Basque Grand, who he had been expecting. Rather, this general was a woman, and a fairly beautiful woman at that. She had long, thick blonde hair that wasn’t tied back in standard military fashion, and striking facial features punctuated by powerful blue eyes.

“Sit,” she said in a hard voice before Kimblee could even introduce himself, skipping all formalities. Her presence in the room was so huge and bright he understood how such an attractive woman could have made it to such a high rank- she was clearly an extremely powerful person. As he sat, he saw she kept a sword by her side.

“You’re the Crimson Alchemist,” she said, and he dipped his head to acknowledge this, but once more she did not leave him time to speak. “You make explosions.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kimblee said in a neutral tone, even though the reduction of his work to such a simple description bothered him somewhat.

“Then why that title?” she asked. Every word she spoke seemed cold and imperious, like the icy top of a tremendous mountain. “Why is your name a ‘colour?’”

“I think it’s like a pun,” Kimblee replied carefully. There was an edge in her tone he didn’t like- she sounded like she was accusing him, but he wasn’t sure what of. And her blue eyes were harshly unreadable, like steel blades, things that unwaveringly and unflexibly pierced. “Something to do with Xerxian mythology…”

“That’s not what the other soldiers say,” she told him, and he didn’t like how soft his voice sounded in comparison to hers, even though he was being polite and she very much wasn’t. “According to them, it is because you bathe yourself in blood on the battlefield. Because your work is so violent and filthy those you kill are reduced to nothing but red.”

Kimblee frowned without meaning to, and then forced his expression back to something calm and mild. Of course, it wasn’t unreasonable to think that he could have become something of a superstitious figure among the lower-class ranks, or even among the Ishvalans themselves, given his behaviour. But a general should know better- should know that State Alchemists received their titles based on qualities displayed in their examinations. His demonstration then had been very clean. 

“I don’t think…” he began, and was interrupted. Her voice was as hard as her eyes.

“Do you know a man named Jack Barton? Private Barton, that was his rank.”

Kimblee breathed evenly before answering, keeping his tone of voice as measured as he could. Though, there was nothing to lie about yet.

“Yes. I was initially placed on a squad with him, during my first mission here."

“So you remember him well?” she continued. This did not seem to be new information to her. Well then.

“Well enough, I suppose,” he replied. He wouldn’t say how much he had disliked the man. Indeed, that would probably be the worst thing to say. “He had a very strong presence.”

It didn’t seem like anything he said had an effect on the general- his words broke like water where her face was stone, and there was no change in the depth or colour of her eyes.

“Do you know where he was stationed on September 30th?”

Kimblee raised an eyebrow, like the question was silly- because it was- and said that he didn’t. It was a clean lie.

“That’s interesting,” the general said, and for the first time she moved, opening a folder that sat before her on her desk to look briefly upon its contents. “Because according to my records, you were both in the same town at that time.”

Kimblee relaxed his face, to let himself appear mildly surprised. “Well, I don’t have reason to speak much with the other soldiers. The nature of my work as an alchemist is very solitary.”

This, of course, was entirely true. Kimblee had decided now, though, that he didn’t much like the blonde general. She was clearly worthy of respect, but she seemed so unyielding, difficult to deal with.

“I see,” she said, her tone unchanged. “So you did not know that Jack Barton had been deployed there?”

“No, ma’am,” he said.

“And you did not see him at any point during your work on that day?”

“No, ma’am,” he said again, keeping his expression resting on light bemusement. _Do you like to lie?_ Envy had asked him once. Well, no. And with the general’s rigid countenance, he couldn’t tell if she believed him or not. There was silence for a moment where she stared at him, and he took the advantage to speak.

“May I ask what this is about?” he said softly. “Did something happen?”

The general did not speak for another long moment, and though it would have been more realistic to fidget or appear uncomfortable- as she was surely used to- Kimblee met her gaze evenly. He was lying, of course, for propriety’s sake- because murder was not an act in polite society. But he didn’t feel like he had done anything so terribly wrong. Barton had been a weak and foolish man, without anything of value to offer to the greater consciousness of humanity. He had deserved to live only until a point where he was faced with something greater than himself- and that had been Kimblee.

(And of course, Kimblee would have been more careful, but like in Xerxian myths a red lotus had bloomed in his heart, seeing his little Envy wounded by a dullard’s bullets.)

“He’s missing,” the general said at length. “At this point he is suspected dead, but a body has never been found.”

Kimblee hummed, and nodded his head, and then he smiled. It was not easy to calculate his every motion in concordance with a lie- Envy had a talent, he supposed.

“And so, given the destructive nature of my work, you assume I may have…” he didn’t bother to finish the sentence. That probably wasn’t all. Barton had been scouting for a squad- no doubt they had wondered, following his footsteps to the point where he was gone and finding the ravaged, blood-soaked square, where countless bodies had been mingled into relative homogeneity. The general said nothing.

“Well, I am sorry for his disappearance, but I can assure you I was not involved. Is that all?”

Perhaps he was a little brusque, but he couldn’t tell at all what the general thought of him. She held herself in such strict composure, there was not even body language to try and read.

“Yes,” she said, thankfully. “The timekeeper has your next assignment. Dismissed.”

On his way out of her tent, Kimblee realized he had been sweating slightly, and frowned. He hadn’t felt nervous. Perhaps it was an animal reaction, from some deeply buried part of his human brain, an automatic stress born from being placed under the tremendous glacial pressure that was her eyes. No matter, he decided. He didn’t think anything was going to come of it. Even if someone did find out what had really happened, it wouldn’t affect him. He had better things worth living for.

The rest of the day of his return was unremarkable. He did not receive any special visitors. The day following, he was to be put into one of those terrible metal transport trucks and sent back into the fray. Even though he hadn’t much enjoyed his talk with the woman general, he was in a good mood. There was much to look forward to, in the dry desert air.


	22. Chapter 22

Kimblee did not see Envy for a week, and much of that week was spent in tedium, being shuttled throughout Ishval with little to do. The ravages of war had consumed the entire area, even nearing the distant deserts that formed the thick border between Amestris and the mysterious, savage nations of the deep South. But the Ishvalans were still alive. Like a Xerxian monster Kimblee had read about- these people were the same as that terrible many-headed serpent, that sprouted two fresh necks when one was cut off. With their resilience perfect genocide would be difficult, Kimblee thought, but the idea was not unappealing. He didn’t know what he would do with himself, when these events came to their end, and peace took back its place in the country. He had spent so many years in pursuit of his alchemical studies, and now that he had perfected them, how would he spend himself when he could not use them anymore? Unfortunately, dull times tended to lead his thoughts down paths such as these.

And Kimblee had difficulty controlling the rising impatience in his chest. It burned a little brighter every day. He wanted to see them- _really_ see them- very badly.

It was the night before he would arrive in his designated area that Kimblee gave up on playing coy, on trying to hide how much he missed them. His squad had settled down for the night, squatting in an abandoned Ishvalan home, and the air was dark and quiet in the light of a crystal clear moon. Kimblee left his sleeping bag and went outside, the man on watch not even meeting his eyes. The house was a low-roofed building, but it sat in the shadow of a higher one (flat-topped, like so much Ishvalan architecture), and using a stick Kimblee scratched a rough alchemical circle in the dirt that created stairs which he could climb to this better vantage point. Kimblee wanted to be visible from a distance.

Once up he vanished the stairs with a reverse circle, returning the density of the building’s walls to normal, and stood to look up at the stars. The night was so clear he could see them all with a perfection that was easy to lose oneself in. If he looked straight up, nothing of earth infringed upon the borders of his vision, all he could see was the void. It was easy, like this, to imagine falling into those stars, having gravity reversed and the world twisted out of shape. Falling forever. At what point would a man perish, falling into the sky? Would he burn or freeze? There was no wind on this Ishvalan night. The entire universe seemed to be holding its breath.

Where Kimblee’s hand rested slack by his side, cold fingers intertwined with it, and at their touch Kimblee dragged himself back from the stars.

“What were you looking for?” Envy asked him, their voice soft and raspy, low in their throat. 

“You,” he replied, and they averted their eyes, smiling with closed lips a bashful little smile, letting him lead them into an embrace.

“That’s a lot,” they mumbled, and he wasn’t sure what they meant. 

“How are you?” Kimblee asked, threading his fingers through their hair. Sleepily they curled into his touch, closing their eyes as he found some particular spot on their skull to rub. Underneath the much coarser ‘leaves’, the short clipped hair was very soft.

“I dunno,” they replied, voice still rough around the edges, but their tone was dreamy. “Busy. Wrath’s been making a mess...oh.”

One violet eye peeked at him, and clearly they had forgotten what they had told him and what they had left omitted. Kimblee didn’t mind. He understood them much better now.

“Wrath,” he said. “Is that your...brother?”

“Yeah,” they murmured, and for a second they seemed confused, and then the furrow forming in their brows melted away. “My little brother. He’s the baby...you know him by another name.”

“Oh?”

By now they were smiling again, a vague and mischievous smile, clearly enjoying very much how he touched them like they were a pet.

“I’ll tell you if you can keep it secret,” they whispered to him, cold breath light on his face. “It’s pretty funny…but really, it’s important not to tell anyone…”

“I can do that,” Kimblee said. “I promise, darling, I’ll never tell a soul.”

Envy wiggled against him with pleasure, likely in part because he had called them ‘darling’, the secret bubbling up in their throat.

“Okay,” they said. “I believe you.”

They opened their eyes and stood up on tiptoe, cupping one hand around Kimblee’s ear so they could whisper into it. Like these were forbidden words, and they feared even what the still night air would do with it.

“Wrath’s human name,” they whispered, “is _King Bradley.”_

Kimblee stopped stroking them for a minute, and had to close his mouth. 

“Oh my,” he said when this had been processed, and they giggled with delight at his reaction, wrapping their arms around his neck.

“It’s so fun,” they purred. “You didn’t think that, did you?”

“No,” Kimblee replied, slightly in awe. “I certainly didn’t. He made it to the very highest level, and no one knew…”

“He’s not that special,” Envy said under his chin. _“I’ve_ been the Fuhrer before. More than once, in fact. Wrath’s just _convenient.”_

“Of course you have,” Kimblee murmured, and even though it looked like they were going to say something else he kissed them, because they were most beautiful when they were telling secrets. It was a sweet and comfortable kiss, stretched out into a timeless lazy moment. Envy seemed sleepy, with how their weight melted easily into his chest, how their eyelids fluttered but rested half-drawn when they broke apart.

“And you?” they asked him, purring as he resumed his circling ministrations over their skin. “What have you been up to? I thought you left…”

“I did,” Kimblee replied. “For a few days.”

Of course, bubbling under his skin already was the question he wanted to ask them, and though it rose high into his throat he suppressed it. Envy looked too cute just then. He wanted to hold them like this for just a few minutes more.

So, “I might get in trouble over Jack Barton,” was what he said, instead of that other, burning question. Envy hummed.

“...who?” Envy’s eyes were entirely blank, lacking any sense of recognition.

“The man I killed. The soldier.”

Still nothing. They just looked at him. Kimblee chuckled.

“On the day we first had sex…?”

That sparked something, at last.

“Oh, yeah,” Envy said, and they smiled, still so soft and cute for an inhuman murderer. “He shot me. I’m glad you killed him.”

“People are asking about him,” Kimblee continued. “Specifically, a female general, a blonde...”

Envy immediately recognized _this_ , expression twisting in disgust.

“Ugh,” they grumbled. “I can’t stand her. She’s troublesome. She’s got ideals, and she asks all these questions...”

Kimblee nodded, watching their eyes open up in full, slipping around in their sockets as they looked at something that wasn’t there.

“But it’s okay,” Envy continued. “After the war, she won’t be a problem. We’re going to send her away...far away, where she’ll be all alone, and there won’t be anything for her to find.”

Kimblee marveled at the power in their words. Of course they could do something like that. If King Bradley- this ‘Wrath’- was the Fuhrer, the country was essentially in the cradle of their palm. How long had it been that way? And how old was his Envy- if King Bradley, a man (or man-like thing) known to be in his late sixties, was considered a ‘baby?’

Kimblee was curious about this, but of course, he was more curious about that other thing. He couldn’t hold it in any longer- the crystal moonlight was so bright and clear, perfect conditions for viewing miracles.

“I met someone during my leave,” Kimblee said after the comfortable silence had grown thin. Something in his words made Envy’s eyes sharpen- desperately and immediately jealous. “Your sister.”

After he said that they just looked confused- still vaguely upset, like they weren’t sure how to process this. Maybe they didn’t like the thought of other violet eyes meeting his. Or maybe, more simply, they were just acutely aware of what their sister looked like.

“Lust?” they said, squirming in his arms like a snake. “What did she do…?”

“We spoke,” Kimblee assured them, still holding them close, though he had no way of keeping them there should they decide to run away. “She was concerned for you, that’s all.”

Envy looked wide awake now, and not happy in the slightest. But it wasn’t anger he saw in their eyes, rather a kind of rising panic, and they had started to shiver even in the mild night air.

“What did she tell you…?”

“A few important things,” Kimblee murmured, trying to be soothing, stroking their back like they were a frightened cat. “and I made some discoveries on my own, as well.”

Envy didn’t say anything. They seemed to be looking for something in his eyes, and their own violet pair shone with that bright light, as hard and crystal as diamonds.

“I don’t mind that you lied to me,” Kimblee said. “You look very pretty like this.”

The light was shut off.

Envy broke from his embrace and took a few shuddering footsteps across the roof, folding their arms and digging their fingernails into their white shoulders. Their breathing sounded uneven; thankfully, they did not fly away.

“Of course I want to know,” Kimblee continued, and though he reached out he wasn’t sure if it was safe to touch them. “Your sister called this a ‘trial.’”

“A _trial,”_ Envy spat, and their voice was shaking, and they did not look at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

This situation was terribly perilous. Just like always, their emotions changed so quickly from sunshine to storms. And worse, they almost looked like they were in pain, and Kimblee hadn’t intended that. Still, he had to push on.

“Well, she made it sound very intriguing,” Kimblee said lightly. “and I do enjoy a challenge. If I could just see you…”

His fingertips met their shoulder very lightly, and they shoved him away, taking a few lurching, gargantuan-sounding steps towards the edge of the roof.

“You’ll hate me,” they said, voice rising almost to a shout. “You’ll never want me again!”

“I don’t think so,” Kimblee replied, though this was essentially a prayer, a feeble thread tossed into the air to try and keep them at his side. “Whatever you look like, it can’t be so bad…”

“You don’t understand, Crimson,” they said, and now they looked back at him and he could see their eyes were glittering with unfallen tears. “Men go _mad_ looking at me! I’ve used that to _torture_ people! I…”

Their voice broke weakly in their throat, and once more they stepped away, until their heels rested on the very edge of the Ishvalan rooftop.

“...I don’t want you to see me that way.”

Those words hung in the air for a moment, wet and heavy, and in them Kimblee heard something much more broken than he had imagined.

“Well, I want to,” Kimblee said, and he folded his arms behind his back, his stance and voice both gentle but firm. “You needn’t underestimate me.”

Envy slowly let go of the piercing grip they had on their own arms, letting out a low breath. The tears did not spill onto their cheeks, catching instead in their eyelashes as they blinked.

“I just wanted it to last a little longer,” they mumbled, but they didn’t sound like they were speaking to Kimblee. They weren’t looking at him anymore, either. “Just a little longer. I wanted to have something, for once…”

“Envy?” Kimblee said, a little forceful, wanting to bring himself back into their eyes. The look they gave him was a dry one, filled with vague resentment and an emptiness he had never seen there before.

“Bye-bye then, Crimson,” they said, and then they stepped off the lip of the roof and vanished.


	23. Chapter 23

Kimblee didn’t sleep at all the night Envy left him.

Standing on that rooftop in the void they had left behind, he had seriously considered trying to pursue them, even though such actions would have been futile. In any chosen form they could move much faster than simple human legs could. And he had no idea where they could have gone. Where they slept- hell, _if_ they slept- he did not know.

The other soldiers surely noticed his restlessness. He couldn’t eat, either, sitting still in any place felt like a waste. When Kimblee wasn’t working, he paced in dark Ishvalan alleys by himself, reliving those crystal clear moments- trying to think of something that he could have said that would have kept them there.

Even when he was engaged, it wasn’t the same. He had trouble maintaining a melody in his head, the chords became cracked and split, dividing into dissonance and aharmony. The petals of his red flower were imperfect and torn. These deaths were not art, they were just business, and in his worried state they did not bring him the pleasure they should have.

Kimblee cursed his weak heart for this. He should never have let himself become so dependant. He didn’t understand how he could have so little control over his feelings. It hadn’t been nearly this bad before- but then, before had been different.

Envy had never said goodbye to him, before. It had always been ‘see you later’ or ‘see you soon’ or simply nothing at all, slipping away forgetful of human politeness. What they had said to him on that night had sounded far too...final. There had been a weight in those words unlike anything else they had ever said. And it was thinking of this that made him so wild, so restless- he couldn’t stomach the thought of never seeing them again.

If only his hands could reach out and pluck them from the air, like a spellcaster in a children’s story. If only he could go to them. He would make them listen, and say things better this time.

It was even more important now, Kimblee thought, that they show him their real face. The act had a sense of symbolism to it that extended in importance beyond his curiosity (though that, too, was achingly tremendous). He did not heed any of their protestations, or Lust’s warnings. He did not think he was so weak a man that any sight would make him mad. It was their absence that was doing that, instead.

Surely, if they could see how he obsessed over them, they would realize there was nothing to fear. He wouldn’t abandon them over any ugly face- he couldn’t. He was barely functioning now, thinking that he may have pushed them away forever. 

Days spent in this anxious state turned into weeks. In Central, the ground was surely frozen, but even the deepest part of winter in Ishval was temperate. Envy never came to speak with him. He never saw them, either, not in any form. In a haze of tortured sleeplessness and lack of personal upkeep, the world passed by made in blurs of unusual, faded colours- not one of which was his beloved green. But time did have meaning, and of it Kimblee was running out.

Once more there was talk of the war winding down. King Bradley was moving back and forth between the government in Central and Ishval, and reportedly spending more time at home then out in command of the war. And Kimblee could see it, too- the hot blood of the Ishvalans was steadily cooling. There were fewer and fewer inhabited settlements to invade. Even the caravans that attempted escape into the surrounding deserts were thinned out and scrawny. There were even places where the meagre remaining populace had simply starved to death before Amestrian forces could finish them, locked away with no access to trade routes and dwindling supplies as Ishval’s agricultural season approached. It seemed clear to everyone that the extermination would be over before spring. A war of seven years, now, and it had ended so swiftly, the moment the State Alchemists were brought in.

Kimblee couldn’t stand these thoughts. The ticking clock tore up his insides like sets of monstrous teeth. If he was discharged, sent back to Central and his alchemical studies without finding Envy, he doubted he would ever see them again. The separation would become too great. To live his life as dully as he had before the war- that idea was almost physically painful.

Kimblee was consumed with these spiralling ruminations while he stood on one of the last fronts of the Ishvalan war. The sun was a wan, slanted creature, the colour of a shattered eggshell. Even it seemed to know that these moments were an ‘ending’ of some kind.

His work was mechanical under this light. The Philosopher’s Stone was still against his chest- and it hadn’t moved, or glowed with any preternatural light since the night Envy had left him. It behaved like a dead thing, like any ordinary rock, not even warm under his fingers. Still, it did its job well enough- through its clean cut facets he channeled the energy of his transmutations, and standing once more on a rooftop with his arms spread, he looked not unlike a mythological figure from those ancient Xerxian myths.

At one point- far too late, he would have noticed much sooner in a better state of mind- Kimblee saw that the explosions born of that red touch were intermingled with tongues of orange fire. For a moment this surprised him, because that didn’t look like the result of his alchemy, and then he understood. He wasn’t alone.

“You look worse than before,” said Roy Mustang from behind Kimblee’s head, in that appealing, clear voice. “What the hell happened to you?”

When Kimblee turned to look, he was met with the full force of two piercing, jet-black eyes. When engaged, that buried intensity he had seen in the other alchemist came to the forefront, and burned just as hot as his fires.

“Not that you’re too pretty yourself,” Kimblee said idly, though this wasn’t necessarily true. The circles under Mustang’s eyes were dark, his expression somewhat haggard, but he certainly looked much better than Kimblee possibly could. And well, to say he wasn’t pretty would be a lie.

Not nearly as pretty as what Kimblee wished would appear behind him, though.

Mustang didn’t say anything more to that. Perhaps he didn’t care if his question was left unanswered- ah, if only Kimblee was the same, he might still have what he wanted most. The other alchemist walked up to stand next to him on the roof, surveying the wreckage below. Kimblee was certain there were still ‘living things’ located within, but he didn’t make a move to transmute them, watching Mustang do it instead. There was, for an instant, a wave of incredible heat when the Flame Alchemist snapped his fingers, but the fire itself materialized elsewhere. The act didn’t seem to give him any pleasure, but Kimblee couldn’t really say- whatever emotions sat contained in those eyes were hidden behind an impenetrable onyx wall. Really, very much the opposite of Kimblee’s own pale blue. Surely it was dangerous, to stand so close to an open flame.

“Do you think it will be over soon?” Kimblee asked, filling the charged silence. This was a silly thing to say, but he rather liked talking to the other alchemist. If his voice sounded strange to his own ears, he buried the surprise he felt at it.

“The war?” Mustang said, turning to fix his black focus on Kimblee’s face. “Ultimately, that will be decided by the higher-ups.”

It was a very clean, neutral answer. A good answer, even, especially if one was pushing for a promotion. War hero Roy Mustang, was that what he wanted? Would that unusual woman general want a man like Mustang? Though, Envy had said her opinion didn’t matter. Oh, speaking with someone, Kimblee suddenly realized that his poor behaviour really was taking a toll on him- his thoughts were running into strange places, like a flock of rabbits fleeing a fox.

“Will you be happy, when it’s over?” Kimblee asked. His palms were still outstretched, but he channeled nothing through them. “Or will you miss it?”

Mustang was quiet for a moment, appearing to think.

“Wars are meant to end,” he said at length, which was another good answer, though it wasn’t an answer at all. “...will you?”

“Yes,” Kimblee said, not caring enough to be dishonest. “Very much so. I’ve fallen in love, here.”

Mustang continued to watch him, and after a second Kimblee realized that he sounded crazy. Just like what the lower soldiers said of him, when they called him the ‘Mad Bomber’. Well, he probably was crazy by now. And he didn’t care about promotions.

“If this is what you call love,” Mustang said softly, “then what do you think love _is?”_

Kimblee opened his mouth to offer an answer to that question, and then realized he didn’t have one. It wasn’t the kind of question that could be answered at all. Even the ancient Xerxian myths had no good response for that. Really, what did Kimblee know of love? He could measure only what he felt, and nothing else. What sensations were prescribed to that word could be very different for someone else. All he knew was that to think of it was as painful as it was electric, and that his senses strained for that dark, death scent, or the feeling of cold, smooth skin.

“You really never saw them, did you?” Kimblee asked, and the vague, guarded confusion in Mustang’s eyes was enough to answer this question. “No, you didn’t. They never came to you…”

But this didn’t matter. Even if Kimblee was the only one Envy had been with, they had left him all the same.

“There’s not much left at this vantage point,” Mustang said, his words sounding very deliberate and precise. “I’ll head back down.”

Kimblee wasn’t sure what he saw on Mustang’s face as he was abandoned once more on an Ishvalan rooftop. Not fear, he thought- and it couldn’t be fear, Mustang was just as dangerous as he was. No, maybe it was something more like ‘unease’, or just plain, ordinary ‘disgust’.

Kimblee laughed aloud to himself, which Mustang surely heard, and that just made him laugh more. His reputation had preceded him. He probably was deserving of the judgement in those burning black eyes.


	24. Chapter 24

Kimblee didn’t return to camp when the strike was called off. He walked around the Ishvalan ruins for a while by himself, looking upon his own handiwork and that of others. There were so many bodies- bodies that had been shot, that had been destroyed, that had been burned. Few faces were left intact. Interesting. Was it, though? This was all really commonplace. Featureless corpses of the desert didn’t deserve to be remembered. Kimblee spoke to himself sometimes, or hummed parts of melodies he didn’t quite recall, but this wasn’t done intentionally- his divided stream of consciousness was slipping through the filter that separated it from reality, escaping into the air before he could even think to stop it. He felt no unnatural eyes on him, even as the sun began to set, dying the streets a fitting red for the blood spilt. The moon could be seen, hanging low in the sky, a malevolent scarlet eye.

Eventually, Kimblee did return to the camp, and when he got there the most that was done was a note taken on his survival. No one tried to reprimand him for his disobedience, or to examine him for injuries. That was fine, Kimblee wasn’t injured anyway. There were showers in the camp, though- something had been set up, perhaps alchemically, using water from a nearby Ishvalan well. Kimblee took advantage of this. The slightly repulsed look Mustang had given him had stuck in his brain, like someone had hung it there with a tack. He had probably embarrassed himself.

The water in the shower was not hot, but it wasn’t cold, either, and it felt good to remove a few too many days of sweat and dust from his body. Under the stream he looked at the Philosopher’s Stone that hung about his neck, rubbing its facets under his fingers. This, too, would be taken away when the war was over, Kimblee knew. He wasn’t sure how many had been issued- too many- enough for every State Alchemist in Ishval. The government wouldn’t want such outrageous power in the hands of so many citizens. The creature ‘Wrath’ wouldn’t want it, either- too many secrets would be on the verge of discovery, in such a situation. Anyone who could be called an ‘alchemist’ would be possessed by natural curiosity, and would surrender to it, after a while. No, he wouldn’t be able to keep it, there was no way.

Kimblee thought about his apartment back in Central. He could picture the entrance hallway very clearly. He could smell the air inside. He thought of his ailing mother in her sickbed- she didn’t recognize him at all. The vase of faded flowers by her bed was static, as was everything else in that world- that life. He would be able to bring his silver watch with him, that at least, but he didn’t know what he would use it for- and worse, the tattoos on his palms would have no purpose in such a place whatsoever. The trivial comforts of wealthy city life alone were not enough to live for.

Lust had said Envy was in love with him.

Kimblee sighed to himself, closing his eyes under the water, and he forced his brain to stop spinning. He quelled his reductive, cyclonic thoughts, becoming for a moment nothing more than the sensations of water spraying over his face and sinking down between the follicles of his hair. Air as it moved in and out of his lungs. The vague aches and pains in his insides; each feeling was brought to the forefront, where it was hyper clear, and then categorized and pushed away, put behind the others like a card shuffled back into a deck. To be nothing but a collection of nerves and their receptors- without the calamitous mix of thoughts and emotions that separated man from beast- was a comforting thing. But not so comforting that it would do to be lost in it.

When Kimblee opened his eyes, and turned his mind back on, he decided that this distinction was, at least for him, the definition of the soul.

In a businesslike manner Kimblee left the shower and dried off, taking particular care with his hair so it would not be greasy. When this was done he dressed himself in a clean uniform, leaving the Philosopher’s Stone to rest beneath it against his chest. In the pockets of the uniform he stored a small, unopened package of chalk from his belongings, an extra tie for his hair, and a simple military standard compass. Of other supplies, he intentionally took nothing, though he did down a healthy drink of water from the rations station. As such his hands were free, and he was not laden down with any pack, his uniform was light and his silhouette clean. He saw no one he recognized during these menial preparations about the base, and no one attempted to speak to him- in fact, many looked away as he approached, and he found any place he set foot in was soon emptied, the other soldiers finding sudden reason to be elsewhere. Kimblee would have liked to see Mustang again, but the other alchemist was nowhere to be found. But ultimately, that wasn’t very important. Kimblee didn’t have room in his heart for petty wishes.

It was nearing midnight when the Crimson Alchemist left the base into the Ishvalan streets. If anyone saw him go, not one released any call. As the shadows closed over his head and the sounds of life faded away, Kimblee found himself smiling- he hadn’t indulged in a ‘disobedience’ of this sort since childhood. But he remembered how, in those very early dawn days, he had sometimes enjoyed disappearing.

Kimblee remembered the layout of the town from the raid, as he had seen most of it from the rooftops, and as such did not bring out the compass until he reached its edge. The moon was bright enough a light to guide his way, and so while he passed many corpses he did not stumble on them. This place was just a small outpost- one of the last Ishvalan settlements before the bitter desert took hold completely, a waste that stretched on into the horizon where only rats and wild dogs could live. Well, Kimblee thought to himself, the State Alchemists had started getting unkind nicknames about that- ‘dogs of the military’, was what he had heard. He must be a rabid dog, then, and this sort of place would suit him nicely.

It had taken around an hour to reach the edge of the town, and from there he knew it would have been easy to turn back- easy to return to the base and slip back into his sleeping bag, follow orders cleanly the next day, and have everyone think that his brief departure in the night had been but a mild fit of fancy from the mad State Alchemist, and nothing to be concerned about. But Kimblee did not consider this option for more than an instant. That was the coward’s way out, and the road it paved was to gray-walled mediocrity which he had no interest in.

And so Kimblee walked out into the desert. The horizon before him was monstrously flat, and under the stars and pinkish-white moon it looked almost like he was walking into another world. The walls of the Ishvalan settlement were the last piece of rational human architecture for an unmeasurable distance, and he was leaving them behind. Once he stopped and looked back, curious- the desert earth here was dry and hard-packed, punctuated by straggling brownish plants, and as such Kimblee’s boots left no deep imprints. Only a skilled tracker would be able to follow him out here- indeed, it almost looked like he had never been. Like he really would dissappear, if he kept walking out into the abyss.

By the time the sun had begun to rise, the town could no longer be seen. Kimblee had begun to use his compass for navigation, ensuring he was moving in a straight line by following the white southward-pointing half of the needle. Desert sunrises were blinding and bloody, casting sharp and monstrously distorted shadows of the low-growing plants and occasional rock. The red light tasted of metal. It reminded him pleasantly of the Philosopher’s Stone. During the night, Kimblee had occasionally heard soft scuffling and rasping sounds on the hard ground- perhaps the struggles of nocturnal predators and their prey. But in this crepuscular time there was total silence save his own breathing, as the rest of this strange world sat still to see what kind of day would rise from the shadows.

By the time the sky returned to its more sane, healthy blue, Kimblee could tell it would be a windless day- and the sun was an unbearably hot one. In little time Kimblee felt forced to remove his outer jacket and tie it to his waist, even though his skin was likely to burn under such unrelenting exposure. But this didn’t upset him. He wasn’t worried yet. 

During the afternoon he began to feel himself become thirsty. In the evening he stopped to rest on a squat boulder, stretching the muscles in his legs and taking off his boots. It wasn’t that he was a man of no stamina, but he couldn’t quite remember the last time he had eaten, and he had been walking for a very long time, now.

The second night was much stranger than the first. Kimblee continued to follow the little white needle, his feet taking him in a straight line, but the featureless desert spun things in its strange air that made it seem otherwise. The stars burned oddly bright on this night, and now at last there were winds to cool him, winds that like blades of ice cut through his uniform and tore at the sun-softened skin on his shoulders and arms. He did not stop to sleep anywhere. Once, he thought he heard the distant howling of some desert wolf, but it could very well have been just the wind.

In the next sunrise, he may have fallen somewhat off course, but he wasn’t sure. The terrible red light had made his heart beat faster, and his eyes were bleary, he wasn’t sure which needle on the compass was red and which was white. The light divided the forms of the desert into eerie, two-dimensional shapes, each separate and distinct and with no corresponding meaning to the real world. He felt like he was walking through a flat drawing, of the coloured ink used by children’s illustrators.

Eventually, when the sun had been transmuted back to its true, yellow self, this illusion settled and the desert was as it should be again. Once more Kimblee removed his jacket, but he could feel a rawness on the exposed skin that did not welcome the sun. 

By now, he was unbearably thirsty. It had been his intent not to drink, but even a well-maintained and rigorous mind such as his could not resist such a base instinct for too long. Using a stick he etched a rough alchemical circle into the dirt- even this simple task left him dizzy and breathless, how fascinating- and from it made a meagre fountain, digging deep into the earth to find wet earth and from it extracting what he needed. A few mouthfuls was all. Enough to keep walking.

It was becoming much more difficult to ‘keep walking’. Kimblee’s legs had begun to ache yesterday, but by now there was also a stabbing pain in his feet that landed through the tissues of his body with every step. His vision was blurry no matter how much he blinked or rubbed at them, and every breath of dry desert air rubbed against his tongue and throat like sandpaper.

Yes, this was certainly a dire situation. Someone else may have died already. And a body out here would never be found, not by anyone, it would be swallowed by the void and no sane eyes would look upon it again. But Kimblee didn’t think he was going to die. He was a survivor. 

By night Kimblee’s pace had slowed to a crawl, and he wasn’t sure where he was going. The night sky was alive over his head, writhing with the glaring eyes of ancient cosmic beings that watched the earth with malevolent intent. He felt terribly exposed to these eyes- but what special care would they have for one lone man in a desert? The night winds, Kimblee became certain, carried voices on them- voices not from a distance in space, but from a distance in time. One was his mother speaking softly to him from across the dinner table, and another was the teacher from his grammar school- she was telling a Xerxian myth, but it wasn’t one that made any sense. The the story folded up and over onto itself, and the creatures in it where unlike ordinary imaginings. One was a naked man with a cuttlefish for a head, and he saw this man standing still in the desert, a few feet away- but since the thing made no move to come for him, Kimblee left it alone.

Kimblee no longer had the compass. In his mind’s eye- or his real eyes, he couldn’t tell- it slipped between his fingers, and he saw it fall over and over, into an ocean and then a glass of wine and then the empty vacuum of space. He couldn’t reach out and grab it again. He had a notion that he was walking along a road paved with upward-facing tacks, and with each step a new spike ripped through the muscle and bone of his foot, leaving a trail of blood for him to be followed by. But this couldn’t be true. He was in a desert, after all. He could hear the starving wolves howling.

(At some point, during all of this, Kimblee’s detached and still-rational consciousness decided that he must be hallucinating. But whether he was or not, there was nothing that could be done about it.)

Kimblee didn’t like looking up at the sky in this state, for it moved too much, and he did not want to capture the focus of the unholy things not of the earth that shifted up there. But he did once, to try and locate the angle of the moon, measure the time until sunrise- but there was no moon in the sky this time. Instead, there was nothing but a huge black Door, something as massive as the sky itself. On this Door were symbols Kimblee couldn’t read along with others he recognized- from alchemy- from Xerxian mythology. He tried to reach for it, but even with the Philosopher’s Stone it was too far away. And he wasn’t trying to go through any Gate, he chided himself. He was trying to reach the Point of No Return, though he couldn’t quite say where that was. 

Kimblee saw the first red rays of the next coming sun form a line before him- and at first he thought they were the light of a Philosopher’s Stone transmutation, but that couldn’t be it. He must have gotten turned around during the night, and now was facing East instead of South, walking towards the place where Xerxes had once ruled, bright and opulent and self-satisfied. The red sunlight burned like a brand against his retina.

He had been hearing on and off the sharp yips and howls of wild desert dogs, haunting as they drifted across the wind, but suddenly those sounds were much closer- much realer. The vast jackal head of an Underworld god was fixed in the sand behind him, but he couldn’t see it, could only hear the pattering of paws on the desert ground and the pant of hot carnivore breath. What kinds of beasts hunted in the crepuscular? His vision was simultaneously clear and greatly obscured- or maybe it was only his imagination which was clear. The sounds of the wolves were all around him, and vaguely, their shapes caught in the red light, circling.

Kimblee would have laughed, but his throat was too dry. He was certain he was completely surrounded. His skin itched with the phantom sensation of sharp canine teeth digging in. He raised his hands.

He didn’t even have to look. The Philosopher’s Stone was as warm and welcoming as an old friend, flooding his bloodstream with bright, eager power. It was so much more responsive here than it had been in weeks. Happily was how it tore into the dogs for him, transforming their hungry growls into shrieks of dying pain. He felt some of the blood spray over his body. It was ecstasy, how the stone leapt in his chest, how it seemed to burn against his skin.

The air, the light, the blood, the man- everything had become crimson. What an egotistical thought.

When the transmutation was complete, Kimblee was suddenly dizzy- the act had felt effortless, but in its wake a weakness sunk into all of his limbs, how sand was pulled away with the tide, leaving the beach behind missing pieces of itself. He wasn’t sure if he fell. Rather, he didn’t remember falling, but he did find himself quite unmistakably on the ground, with the grit of the dusty earth under one cheek. His body felt simultaneously frigidly cold and feverishly hot, and in its protective sphere of bone his brain was spinning in circles, like a dog chasing its own tail. Though his eyes were (probably) closed, the red sun burned through them still, a light he could not shut out. 

Now Kimblee could hear a voice speaking, like the whispers from days long past, before. This voice was stronger than those, however, and had a cutting quality to it- listening to this voice was like having a razor blade slice through his eardrum, over and over with every consonant struck. The pain was incredibly pleasurable.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you,” the voice was saying. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Something dug into the back of Kimblee’s uniform and he was roughly pulled up, and then with contrasting gentleness set back down so he was propped up against something hot and wet. The carcass of a dead wolf, Kimblee thought, he could feel something sticky and furlike against the back of his neck.

“Fuck you, Crimson. Fuck. You. Drink.”

The rim of a bottle was pressed against his lower lip, and eagerly Kimblee took in the contents as it was poured into his mouth. Water, he thought, but water was not usually this sweet. This liquid was a nectar purer and more delicious than any he had ever consumed before- but the cold hand that steadied his jaw forced him to drink it slowly, in steady sips instead of all at once.

“Why would you do something like this…?”

Kimblee blinked his eyes hard a couple of times, clearing them of dryness and dirt so he could better see. Already, the light was starting to become a cleaner, more comfortable yellow- the insane red had only lasted a few moments this morning, as the sun cleared the lip of the earth.

Envy looked too perfect for the desert. The purple in their eyes glowed, and their skin was flawless, their cold touch a rock that stabilized his spinning brain, an anchor to tie him to reality. He smiled, and found the strength to reach out and cup their cheek, feel the inhuman smoothness of their poreless skin. They didn’t look happy, but he liked the tense furrowing of their eyebrows, and the tiny frown, and the deep hidden misery that glittered in their eyes. Everything about Envy was beautiful.

“I knew you’d come for me,” Kimblee said, finding his throat wet enough to speak, though his voice was rough to his ears. “I had to get your attention somehow.”

Envy’s frown deepened, and the expression was too endearing. 

“You were going to die, if I left you,” they said.

“You weren’t going to leave me.”

Kimblee drank the rest of the water (it was probably just water) on his own, strength returning to his limbs and clarity to his mind. Oh, he was still in terrible shape, he was sure, but he wasn’t seeing things that weren’t there anymore, and the dizziness had passed.

“I almost didn’t find you,” Envy continued. “I’m not a _god,_ Crimson. If you hadn’t blown up these things…”

Kimblee hummed, happy with them. When the water bottle was empty he touched their face and their neck and their shoulders, planting them firmly in reality, loving the familiar sensation after so much time in its absence. It was when he wrapped his fingers around their little waist that they finally protested, making an exasperated noise, leaning in so their eyes pierced Kimblee to the bone.

“What are you doing?” they asked again, more softly, and their breath was the gentlest pleasure on his skin. “Are you saying you can’t live without me?”

“I wouldn’t want to,” Kimblee replied, and Envy shivered all over when he said that, pressing their face into his shoulder so he couldn’t see their expression.

“Do you still want...to look at me?” Their voice was tiny in the desert morning.

“Yes,” Kimblee said, and he rubbed the very soft short hair on the back of their skull to comfort them. They groaned, a low sound that reverberated in his chest.

“Didn’t you hear me last time?” Envy looked up at him, clearly in a sulk. “You won’t like it. You’ll have come out here for nothing.”

“That’s for me to decide,” Kimblee told them, and they sighed. He could feel the tensions in their muscles melt, anxiety transmuted to soft surrender. He stroked their back, and wondered how they would change- would it be the same lightning-fueled shift as always?

Envy sat up slowly, a flat resentment in their eyes, and then they stood, backing out of his embrace. The sudden, hard-hitting panic that struck Kimblee when they were out of reach was not pleasant in the slightest. Surely they weren’t going to leave him like this again-

“Don’t-” Kimblee started to say as Envy turned away, taking steps that his weakened, prone body couldn’t follow. There was tension in their muscles again, in how they folded their arms across their chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” they said softly, shoulders hunched. “But I can’t sit so close. Like that…”

They looked back at him, and Kimblee saw that the sclera of their right eye had turned black.

**“...I’D CRUSH YOU.”**

What happened next was a series of the most grotesque, nightmarish gestures Kimblee had ever seen. The sight transcended all notions he had of what constituted the macabre. He realized within seconds that Envy had been right- this was the kind of sight that could drive lesser men to raving insanity.

Contorted as though in the throes of terrible pain Envy’s body simultaneously doubled over and ballooned upwards; set free from invisible constraints their muscles writhed like snakes, expanding and swelling to fill the piles upon piles of flesh that they drew out from within themself. From what had formerly been a very narrow waist the growths took on limblike shapes, two new ones on each side- the sounds their body made was a mix of wet sucking and slurping from their skin, and deep, heavy crunches that were no doubt the reshaping and settling of bone. A floppy worm of meat bulged from their back, flailing bonelessly on the desert earth before their spine shot out to follow it, and by now their fingers and toes and the appendages on their new limbs were beginning to look much the same- long and thickly jointed and tipped with brutal claws.

The clothes they gave themself didn’t last long, and neither did the paleness of their skin. As the black silk was absorbed- sucked back inside, folded behind fresh, clenching muscle- a wave of dark green bloomed over their body, as though the colour in their hair had bled out, staining the rest of them- and indeed, once it was done giving that colour it lost its own pigment and vitality, becoming limp black strands, wilted and rotten.

And most amazingly, they were still getting _bigger!_

They had lifted their neck up towards the sky, obviously straining as their face elongated into a snout, teeth becoming flat tombstone-esque slabs. Under their chin, in the violently mutating flesh, Kimblee thought he saw a smaller face- no, he definitely did, and there were more than one. Like pustules human heads burst into existence, featureless putty-people with gaping mouths and empty eyesockets. Some seemed to be laughing, but others were crying, and small arms and legs waved in the spaces between them, groping the empty air for something that could not be reached. 

At this point the expanding and swelling of Envy’s flesh seemed to settle, though the figures caught in the amorphous, sludgy substance of their neck and chest (and even, in some places, between their legs) still writhed in weak, desperate little motions that brought on an unusual, artificial nausea and dizziness if gazed at for too long. 

On their massive, reptilian legs (eight in total now, like a spider) Envy took a few more shuffling steps back, lowering their tremendous head to Kimblee’s level. Their snout was something a little like a snake, but also like a muttish dog, and between their huge teeth lolled a fat, slimy pink tongue, upon which yet more babyish human faces peeked through the skin. The sounds these things made were barely audible- little sighs and sobs that caught only slightly on the wind. Envy’s eyes were still violet, with catlike slit pupils, but as seen before the sclera in their right eye had become an inky, glistening black, and in their left eye they had a cluster of amethyst irises that spun in different directions, pulsing together like a clutch of insect eggs. On their forehead, Kimblee saw, the inverted red triangle that usually decorated their headband was still there, blown out of proportion, a brand on their scaly hide. A wave of cold air blew across Kimblee’s body from their nostrils, and they licked their front teeth with that monstrous tongue, a gesture that was so familiar, Kimblee felt himself begin to smile.

**“THERE,”** Envy said. **“THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED SO MUCH.”**

Their voice in this terrible eldritch shape was unlike anything he had ever heard before- instead of one voice, from their throat came many, a crowd of what could have been a thousand different speakers chanting the words in perfect unison. A chord played by an entire orchestra, instead of the melody of one instrument, although this music was dissonant and bizarre. And though Kimblee could hear many distinct voices, the tone of each was the same- challenging, yet bruised with a deep undercurrent of self-loathing.

Saying nothing yet- words of any true meaning, at the moment, escaped him- Kimblee reached out with both hands; at first Envy drew back, like they were afraid of what might happen if he touched them, but then they relented, letting him press his palms to the scales on their snout. Cool, smooth scales, not very far removed from the feeling he had grown accustomed to. Kimblee was definitely smiling now, a wide and ridiculous smile, and he could hear Envy’s tail swishing uncertainly on the sandy ground, somewhere far behind them.

**“WHAT? WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH YOU?”**

Kimblee just laughed, and even to his own ears it was a slightly manic sounding laugh, and it made Envy pull away. The posture of the giant was timid. Though Kimblee’s entire body ached, he forced himself to stand, following them so he could run his palms over their cheek and down their neck, through the coarse and greasy black hair, patting the sticky globule of one crying human head. Envy cringed slightly, and he could feel their breathing, huge gusts of winter wind to soothe his overheated body.

**“DON’T DO THAT. I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING.”**

“Hush, love,” Kimblee said, surprised at how even and calm his voice sounded. “I’m examining you.”

Envy was silent for a moment, and then they made an eerie whining noise in the back of their gigantic throat, something that at such a volume was reminiscent of a banshee scream from legend. But they did settle down, laying their head flat on the ground, crouched like they wished they could be smaller.

Kimblee worked his way around their body with care, touching the strong muscles in their legs, the rough growths on the knuckles of the massive handlike paws they balanced on. As he stood so close, many of the waving human appendages reached out for him, catching the edges of his uniform or hair, but they were too weak to hold on for long. One wickedly grinning head attempted to bite his finger when he touched it, but the thing had no teeth, and so it could only slurp feebly at his skin as he pulled away. The sight made Kimblee laugh again.

Kimblee gave a pat to each leg he found, enjoying the familiar stonelike resilience of their flesh, and when he came to their tail he spent a moment stroking what he could reach of their spine, which protruded slightly. If he had been in a better physical condition, Kimblee would have certainly tried to climb up onto their back, but as he was even the thought made him undesirably dizzy. That would have to be saved for another time.

Kimblee stepped over their tail to continue his trip up their opposing flank (Envy watched him, head twisted at a strange angle to see over their own bulk, something like discomfort in their hideous face) and found that the asymmetry of figure was mostly reserved for their head, as here too they had four legs and a twisting mass of contorted and gelatinous human body parts. Still, he was attentive to every inch, observing every line and divot and curve to commit it to memory. When he came back around to their head Envy put it down on the ground again, massive and misshapen eyes darting over to his face and then away again. Bashful. They were really...

...too _cute._

Unable to help himself Kimblee leaned in and kissed the end of their snout, a chaste and warm kiss, mindful of the ridiculous difference in size. The chorus of voices squeaked at once in unison, and Envy’s tail thumped against the ground again, eyes blown wide.

“I have reached my conclusion, darling,” Kimblee said, and even to his own ears, his voice sounded slightly drunk, silly with his own delight. “and this is the truth.”

Envy said nothing, only watching him, their monstrous breathing going still in anticipation of what he would say.

“You are not very pretty. In fact, you are actually quite frightening, and astonishingly disgusting in many _unbelievably_ horrible ways. And…”

Kimblee leaned over their nose, and he was sure his face looked crazy, so widely he was smiling.

“...you are _perfect._ You are completely unique, and marvellous, and I could not have possibly imagined anything better. You are beautiful. Do you understand? You are so beautiful…”

Looking closely into their mismatched eyes, Kimblee’s body decided that then was the perfect time to give out, though his mind didn’t- he wanted to keep looking at them, god, he didn’t want to fall asleep, he wasn’t satisfied yet. But in the end, there was only so far a human body could be pushed, and he had probably passed that limit hours ago.

While his vision started to fade and his body to disappear, Kimblee tried to pat Envy’s nose, hoping they would understand the depth and intensity of his feelings. It wasn’t their fault he was fainting so weakly, he wished to say, he really did want to stay and admire them some more…

Distantly, as the last of his consciousness dissipated, Kimblee was sure he felt them purring.


	25. Chapter 25

When Kimblee woke next, it was very slowly, his mind rising from the deep black ocean of a dreamless sleep to breach lazily the surface of the water. He became aware first of his head, resting on a pillow, and the clean and antiseptic smell of a hospital or medic’s tent. His body was laid out flat, that he discovered next, dressed in soft clothes and covered in softer linens. He tried to move his fingers, and found he could, and in his mouth his tongue stirred and tasted something tacky and metallic, like old blood. The room itself- or tent, Kimblee was beginning to suspect- was rather quiet, but beyond it he could hear the distant and blurred sounds of camp life. It was painful to open his eyes, but Kimblee did it anyway. Strangely, he felt something stir under his blankets- and the mattress in that place dipped alarmingly down.

Yes, he was definitely in the medic’s tent. Judging by the high white fabric of the walls, he supposed he must have somehow made it back to the central base- though that had been over a week’s journey from the town where he had been stationed, and further from the desert where he had last been…

Ah, the desert. Kimblee smiled automatically as his memories came back to him in full, as they were very warm memories. Under the blanket, a cold nose touched the little finger of his left hand.

Kimblee forced himself to sit up, though the muscles of his body protested this with deep, aching pains, silent screams in strange and surprising colours. He had to blink several times to bring the world back from behind the spots that formed in his vision. But moving made him aware of several things- one, that he was still undeniably thirsty, and two, that he had a line dipping into his left arm. The needle pinched where it entered his bloodstream. A treatment for dehydration, he didn’t doubt, though his lips were still cracked and his mouth dry as he swallowed. The cold thing in the bed crept up to press into his thigh, and now he realized he wasn’t wearing his uniform anymore, but instead the soft and shapeless robe of an invalid. Immediately Kimblee reached about his neck for the Philosopher’s Stone, and found its typical weight absent. Kimblee was alarmed by this, but he repressed his breathing, forcing himself to remain calm. He wasn’t sure what had happened to him, and such uncertainty he did not enjoy.

His shuffling drew the attention of a nurse, who came over with a pitcher of water and a glass. She was an older woman, and the bustling way she moved was characteristic of a hardened battle practitioner. Seeing her, Kimblee was reminded for a moment of the creature called Lust, who had worn a similar uniform- but the similarities between the two women ended there.

“It’s good you’ve woken up,” the nurse said to Kimblee as she gave him the water and checked his temperature. Her voice was slightly hushed, and Kimblee saw that across the aisle in the tent another figure lay sleeping still. “You were out for almost three days.”

“Three days?” Kimblee asked when his mouth was wet enough to speak. This surprised him. His discomfort was mounting- much could happen in three days. “May I ask- under what circumstances did I arrive here?”

The nurse seemed surprised with how polite he was. Perhaps she was used to ruffians. The other man across the aisle had bandages over his face and limbs- he looked like he had been amputated. But that was the fate of many, from what Kimblee had heard. 

“Some others brought you in,” she said, unmindful of her vague description. “Said you was collapsed under the sun. That was Monday night, today’s Wednesday. We’ve been treating you for dehydration and putting some creams on all your burns.”

“Thank you,” said Kimblee, somewhat dizzily. He didn’t really like the sound of that. Perhaps he had overestimated himself. He hadn’t thought he would be in such a terrible condition. And her vagueness annoyed him more- but he couldn’t ask her about the Stone directly. Where had his uniform gone?

The nurse laughed gently at him, and patted his hand. Perhaps she found him charming.

“Well, I’ll be around if you need anything,” she said, and she stood to resume her care elsewhere, leaving Kimblee the water and glass. He smiled mildly at her- a smile that was difficult to maintain- until she was out of earshot, her stout figure teetering away between the shifting walls of the medicine tent.

What the nurse had said did not explain how he had managed to completely cross Ishval without even noticing. He didn’t think he had been comatose for over a week. But the feeling of a body shifting under the blankets that was not his own reminded him that these were questions another could answer.

Kimblee lifted the blankets and saw beneath them a slender garden snake curled into the mattress. With dark amber eyes it looked at him, and a tiny forked tongue peeked out from between its lips to taste the air.

“Hello, Envy,” Kimblee said in relief, reaching out to pat their smooth head with his thumb, feeling the little tongue flicker against his skin as he did so, like a kiss. “I’m sorry I slept so long. You must have been worried.”

He spoke softly, but the other patients were few and far between, likely wrapped up in their own pains, and the nurse was nowhere to be seen. He wondered how long Envy had been with him- if they had stayed the entire time, favouring him over their important (and mysterious) duties.

“But I’m awake now,” Kimblee continued, “and I feel alright.”

This was a demi-lie, but Kimblee was certain that his myriad of pains and discomforts were simply the result of fatigue and hunger, and would be easy to fix. He would drink the rest of the water slowly, and then when it was finished ask to be discharged. He wanted to speak properly with Envy.

Still, they were cute as a little snake, coiling around the fingers of his free hand, burying their nose under his sleeve. He tried to pick them up, but it was like trying to lift an anvil despite their small size. Kimblee understood. There was quite a lot packed into that little body. As he watched they bumped their nose against his wrist and opened their mouth, jaw unhinging to expand. From their throat something bright red gleamed- and in a moment it became clear that this was his Philosopher’s Stone, not theirs, and when it had emerged far enough to grip he helped them draw it from their body. The cord it hung from was still there too, and when they were empty of it Envy made a clicking sound with their jaw, and Kimblee returned the stone to its rightful place around his neck.

“Thank you very much for holding onto it for me,” Kimblee murmured, stroking their back lovingly. “And thank you for showing me yourself. I didn’t get to say that last time- but I’m very grateful.”

Possibly from embarrassment at his words, Envy tucked their little face into the fold where Kimblee’s body met the bed, hiding. He chuckled, and realized that despite the pain, he felt very good. There was no pressure driving into his mind anymore- no desperate need or whittling yellow anxiety. Envy was all his now. Whatever came next could only be wonderful.

Kimblee drank the rest of the water in the pitcher at a leisurely pace, content to simply sit with them, and when he was finished he found it not so terribly difficult to stand. His heart and thirst were both satisfied, and as such the hunger and fatigue seemed like little of consequence. When he was ready to leave Envy slithered away, slipping under the white walls of the tent, but he wasn’t worried. He didn’t think they were going far.

Kimblee spoke to the nurse again- who seemed impressed by him once more- and from her he received his uniform back. It had been washed, thankfully, though in some places there were still textureless dark stains where the wolf blood had sunk in too far. What had become of the rest of his possessions, left back in the Ishvalan town so many miles away, he didn’t know or really care. He hadn’t left anything important there. The stone was humming pleasantly around his neck.

“Well you go find yourself something nice to eat,” said the old nurse as he left. “And don’t hesitate to come back if you start feeling off again!”

Outside, Kimblee realized for the first time that it was evening outside, and the setting sun left the world angled and dark, with thick and reaching shadows to choke the eyes of passersby. The camp was quiet from where he stood, but in the distance burned the light of a few fires. The air was surprisingly sweet. He could see a white and translucent moon being born in the distant, dusky sky.

“Crimson,” said a soft voice, and Kimblee turned. Envy was dressed as themself again- or at least, themself as they usually were- but instead of the revealing black silk they were wearing an officer’s uniform, no doubt to disguise their presence from any peering eyes. Though an officer with such unusual features would surely be remembered. The smile they gave him was gentler than usual- not quite so wild and cracked at the edges as he was used to. It was sweet. Uncaring for image, Kimblee held his arms open and let them slip into an embrace, holding them close so he could smell their hair, feel the stonelike pressure of their body. 

“You’re welcome,” Envy said quietly after a moment, and when Kimblee understood what they meant he laughed. Everything about this night was charming.

“You’re very special,” Envy continued, their voice shrinking down to something even tinier. They didn’t look at him directly as they said this, fiddling with the collar of his uniform instead. “I don’t…”

They swallowed a few times, seemingly unable to finish whatever they were going to say, so Kimblee hushed them, reaching up through their hair to cup the back of their skull, a place where they liked being touched. His palms were good for many things, it seemed, not just violence.

“It’s alright,” Kimblee said. “I told you already. You’re perfect.”

Nothing else needed to be said. Envy looked surprised for a moment- all wide violet eyes and stunned insecurity- and then their face split open into a brilliant smile, as sharp and terrible as when they were at their most confident. They stood up on tiptoe and wrapped their arms around his neck, another suggestion of that incredible weight.

“I’ve never felt this way,” they whispered into his lips, a tiny exhalted revelation, and he kissed them.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Envy said when they fell away again. “Too many people around here.”

They took Kimblee’s hand and guided him away from the medicine tent, into the uninhabited shadows of the night-abandoned storage crates and loading areas. The faces of the military trucks were hard and lifeless, the deep shadows that darkened as the moon brightened making the world anew. Their fingers entwined perfectly with his.

“What will happen when the war is over?” Kimblee asked idly, and Envy giggled.

“Many, many things still,” they purred. “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re spared.”

“Spared from what?”

The innocence in Envy’s eyes was perfectly equal to the malice when they looked at him. Strange, paradoxical creature. Not human at all.

“The Ultimate End,” they said, and then they laughed like they had told a joke. “Or whatever. The completion of the Plan.”

“Will you tell me more?” Kimblee asked, squeezing their palm, and they seemed shy for a moment, considering. Their eyes flicked back and forth between the shadows, looking for something, but he didn’t know what. The air was so still and cold back here, Kimblee didn’t think there was anything listening. Envy seemed to agree with him, because their eyes started to shine, and their smile was well past the edge of manic.

“I’ll tell you everything,” they whispered gleefully, spinning around in his embrace. “I _want_ to tell you. I want you to know the truth. I…”

They seemed almost breathless, and everything about them was wild. Beautiful, was all Kimblee could think.

“...you already have my worst secret,” Envy continued, standing close under his chin once more. “so I’ll give you the rest, and I’ll save you, and I’ll keep you...but-”

Envy raised one white finger and pointed it in his face, eyes narrowing with a dark intensity, and for a moment Kimblee thought he saw their core- the terrible essence that made them what they were, and gave them their name.

“In exchange, you can have only me,” Envy said, and though they were still smiling their voice was harsh. “No one else. Not _ever._ Do you understand?”

Jealousy. It was in their name and their nature, just like that terrible red flower was in his. Kimblee was sure he was blessed.

“I understand,” Kimblee said, and he caught their hand. “I am an alchemist. Equivalent exchange.”

Kimblee wasn’t sure if it was ‘equivalent’, though. He didn’t feel he was sacrificing anything. Even if he searched the entire world, he doubted he would be able to find something he wanted more.

Rather than a scientific exchange, then, these were more like wedding vows.

“You’ll stay with me,” Kimblee said, brushing their knuckles with his thumb. “You’ll tell me everything. And I will be faithful- unwaveringly faithful. Until the day I die…”

Envy shivered against him, and perhaps the significance of it all wasn’t lost on them, either. It was completely unplanned and there wasn’t a priest to oversee, but that didn’t matter. The cold moon was witness enough.

“Yes,” Envy said, and he could feel them tremble, see how the light in their eyes flickered.

“Yes.” Kimblee repeated, and with its firmness his tone of voice closed the gap in the air their words had formed. He kissed the back of their hand, the way a gentleman from the distant past might have a princess, and they grinned again, a burning and insane grin.

“Oh, Kimblee,” they gasped- and hearing his real name surprised him too, had they ever said that before? “Where should I start? There’s so much. My father- the truth about the Philosopher’s Stones- the truth about the history of this _country!”_

“Anywhere you’d like, my love,” Kimblee said, watching the fire dance in their eyes. “We have all the time in the world.”


End file.
